


The Spider and the Fly

by Jwink85



Category: South Park
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Angst, Antichrist, Attempted Murder, Biting, Blackmail, Blood, Bondage, Coercion, Collars, Coming of Age, Confusion, Control, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Depression, Dominance, F/M, Fear, Handcuffs, Hell, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Love/Hate, M/M, Obedience, Obsession, Occult, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Punishment, Rage, Rope Bondage, Sexual Assault, Slash, Slice of Life, Smut, Spanking, Starvation, Suicide Attempt, Torture, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-06-14 15:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 49
Words: 334,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15391929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jwink85/pseuds/Jwink85
Summary: Stan and Kyle are at the beginning of a new relationship while trying to navigate their futures. Will an unexpected person from the past disrupt everything, and how will they deal with the fallout? Kyle is grappling with the potential loss of innocence and the way desire can warp you from the inside out, while Stan can only stand by and try to make sense of a senseless situation.





	1. Chapter 1

### "Will you walk into my parlor?" said the spider to the fly;  
"'Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy.  
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,  
And I have many pretty things to show when you are there."  
"O no, no," said the little fly, "To ask me is in vain,  
For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."

-The Spider and the Fly: A Fable by Mary Howitt

*****

"I can't believe school is starting again already. It feels like summer never even started," Stan grumbled. He picked up a reasonably flat stone and tossed it into Stark's Pond. It failed to skip.

Kyle looked up from his phone with a frown. "Dude, you've been complaining about how bored you've been for the past three months. I mean, at least with school starting you have something to do."

"Yeah, like homework and bullshit," Stan replied, rolling his eyes. "I can't wait." He threw another stone in the water. It didn't skip either. He groaned and kicked at the grass.

"I like studying," Kyle said, simply. He went back to scrolling through Facebook, not paying attention to the dirty look Stan shot his way.

"Well, good for you." He walked over and sat on the bench next to Kyle. He was silent for a time, watching the late afternoon sun as it slid towards the mountains framing the horizon. His left leg jiggled against Kyle's; clearly, he was agitated. Kyle ignored that too.

"So, I guess this means that you'll be even busier than usual," he said, bumping Kyle's leg harder.

Kyle glanced up from his phone, slightly irritated now. "I guess so. I'll have college applications to do and I'm also going to be tutoring a couple days a week like last year."

"And volunteering at the hospital again, right?"

"Well, yeah. I have to get my feet wet if I'm going to go to medical school someday. And volunteering --"

"Looks good on college applications. I know, I know," Stan finished for him, his voice huffy.

"Well, it does!" Kyle snapped. "You know, we're juniors now, Stan. You should probably start thinking about your future, too. Do you even have any plans?"

"Of course I have plans, Kyle. I want to be with you." He looked away and Kyle could see that his face was bright red. He softened a bit and reached for Stan's hand. Stan looked at him from the corner of his eye.

"That goes without saying. But you need to have a goal for yourself...like, what do you want to be? What do you want to accomplish? What will you do while I'm performing vasectomies and making rounds and going without sleep for days at a time?"

"God, I don't know. You have your whole life mapped down to the minute and I barely know what the hell I'm doing from day to day."

"You get decent grades, Stan, so you have options. You just have to figure out what you're interested in."

"I'm interested in you," Stan said gruffly and looked away again. Now he was blushing so hard that his face looked like it was on fire.

"Oh, my god, Stan, that was so freaking lame. I can't believe you actually just said that." Kyle started laughing so hard he started to cough. Stan looked at him w/ amused annoyance.

"Okay, okay. Yeah, that was soap opera level crap but give me a break. I'm still new at this." He draped his arm behind Kyle on the bench; Kyle scooted closer to him, still laughing to beat the band.

They had only officially been going out since the summer started, after years of secret crushes and longing and agonizing indecision. For the longest time neither of them were able to process their feelings for the other, let alone articulate or act on them. It wasn't until they had stolen a few beers from the fridge in Stan's garage and gotten pretty wasted that either of them had made a move. It had been the very first night of summer and the sun hadn't even sunk completely behind the trees yet; twilight had begun to bleed across the sky w/ fuzzy stars winking to life one by one & insects humming softly in the grass. They had walked together to Starks Pond, the stolen booze hidden inside of Kyle's messenger bag, quiet and thoughtful; both of them excited at the prospect of having stolen the alcohol but also giddy about the school year finally being over.

Kyle was wearing a thin t-shirt and could feel the night breezes stirring against his skin, which felt flushed and warm from the summer sun. He had decided to go without his hat because it was just too warm to wear it that day, and it had been retired to the upper shelf of his closet. The breeze lifted a red curl from his forehead and threw it across his eyes. Brushing it away, he had glanced at Stan curiously. He had his usual stoic look and had gone without his hat too. Their shoulders had brushed together every few steps and Kyle remembered being scared to death that Stan would notice and move away; he didn't.

They had reached the pond as the sun was setting across the water, throwing brilliant golden light across its surface. It had dazzled their eyes and Kyle could remember Stan saying how beautiful it was. He could also remember making fun of him for being so whimsical and Stan pushing him and laughing. They had nervously cracked open the beers and taken huge gulps, Kyle sputtering and coughing because he wasn't used to the flavor. Stan, who was old hat where alcohol was concerned laughed hysterically to see Kyle doubled over, his face red and his eyes tearing up. He had rubbed Kyle's back in a placating way and Kyle could remember the delicious tickling sensation that fluttered in his stomach at the contact.

Later, as the moon rose and the fireflies had begun to glow in the trees, after they had each indulged in at least two to three beers each and were feeling mellow and slow-witted, they had sat on the grass at the edge of the pond and talked about the summer ahead. Stan was dodging his father who was on his ass to get a summer job, and Kyle was going to get a jump on the summer reading list as soon as possible. Stan told him he was totally lame and to lighten up and Kyle pouted. Stan had rubbed his arm and told him he was only kidding and Kyle told him to fuck off, suddenly feeling very sad for a reason he couldn't articulate.

Stan had hastily tried to apologize and told him that he actually thought it was cool how dedicated Kyle was to his education and how he wished he could be as responsible, and then maybe his parents wouldn't nag him so much about applying himself. Kyle had finally snapped at him that he didn't give a crap about that and he was actually upset about something else.

"Well, what is it, then?" Stan was still rubbing Kyle's arm absentmindedly.

"It's that!" Kyle responded, glancing down at Stan's hand. Stan had blushed and snatched his hand away.

"What? I was just trying to be nice." Stan looked away and crossed his arms, suddenly closed off. Kyle felt bad at the change in Stan's mood, knowing he caused it and that he wasn't really being fair. How could Stan possibly know why he was upset?

"Look," Kyle said, "I'm sorry that I'm being weird. I just have a lot on my mind right now."

"What is it? What's going on?" Stan asked, opening up a little.

"Well, I guess I'm just, uh....confused." He sounded lame, even to himself.

"Confused." Stan repeated the word, but not as a question. "I can relate to that."

"You can?" Kyle asked, puzzled.

"Definitely. I'm confused all the time." He smiled.

"Probably not for the same reason I am."

"Oh, you'd be surprised, Kyle." Stan responded, his smile turning into a smirk. Kyle was irked by his cavalier reaction to what he considered was a very serious problem.

"Would I, Stan? Would I be surprised?" Kyle grabbed another beer and angrily twisted the top off. He began chugging it like there was no tomorrow. Stan just stared at him, his eyes wide.

"Dude, what's your deal right now? Just tell me what's wrong so I can fucking help you already." He grabbed Kyle's arm and pulled the bottle away from his mouth. Kyle jerked away.

"You can't help me because you're the problem, you moron!" Kyle yelled, slamming the bottle down, and soaking his hand in beer in the process. Feeling stupid, he brought his hand up to his mouth to lick the beer away. Stan caught it before he was able to bring it to his face and brought it to his own instead. To Kyle's complete and utter shock he started licking the beer away himself, his tongue slowly moving across his skin. His skin burned like fire where Stan's tongue had made contact and he felt goosebumps rising all over his body. An overwhelming shiver moved through Kyle and he closed his eyes, trying to stay tethered to reality. The feeling mixed with the intoxication from the alcohol and he felt like he was flying into the sky to float among the stars; every molecule in his body writhing in what could only be described as ecstasy. A moan escaped his lips.

Stan watched him, his dark eyes narrowed and predatory. After hearing Kyle moan he seemed to become braver; he licked along the back of Kyle's hand, up his fingertips, and then turned his hand over and kissed the palm lightly. Kyle could only stare at him, mouth agape. His heart was pounding a frantic rhythm in his chest. What was even happening right now?

"Stan..." he started to say something but his voice faded away. Stan was still holding onto his hand, looking deep into his eyes, his face flushed and insistent. He reached out and ran his hand through Kyle's hair and down the nape of his neck, and his hand came to rest there. Suddenly, he was drawing Kyle closer to him and Kyle was sure that he was about to kiss him; he allowed himself to be pulled closer. Their mouths were inches apart when Stan stopped. He drew back, his eyes searching Kyle's face.

"What?" Kyle asked, irritated at the abrupt change in Stan's eyes. Now he just looked confused.

"I was waiting for you to tell me to stop, I guess." Stan said, gruffly.

"Why would I want you to stop, you knob? Do you really think I would've let you do all that if I wanted you to stop? Are you for real?" Kyle jerked away and walked to the edge of the pond. The moon had risen and was icing the surface of the water in white. His mind was a jumble of confusion and excitement. He jumped when he felt hands on his shoulders, and Stan's voice right next to his ear. His heartbeat was hammering in his chest again; in fact, his whole body was on edge just having that voice whispering in his ear.

"I just didn't want to go any further if you didn't want me to. I was afraid you weren't saying anything bc you didn't want to hurt my feelings or something."

Kyle turned around and looked into Stan's face, and was surprised to see so much sadness there; his blue eyes shadowed and distant. Throwing caution to the wind, he stood on his tiptoes and kissed Stan's lips softly, his hands reaching for his shirt and clinging to him. He kissed him again a little harder, and finally, he lightly licked Stan's lips, tasting beer there, and they parted, and his tongue delved inside and the kiss deepened. Kyle felt like he was drowning, but he couldn't have stopped himself at this point even if he wanted to. He could feel Stan's hands tangling themselves in his hair and pulling him closer, until their bodies were pressed tightly together, so close that --

"Oh, my god, Stan, are you --" Kyle pulled away, blushing and flustered. Stan just seemed confused, eyes wide. Kyle glanced down at the front of Stan's pants and then looked away quickly, feeling shy all of a sudden.

Stan seemed to put two and two together and started laughing. "Well, yeah, dude. What'd you think was going to happen?"

"Well, not that, necessarily," Kyle sputtered, "I mean, yeah, I've thought about it but now that it's happening and I'm right here and we're talking about it...."

"Calm down, Kyle. You're not exactly...relaxed here yourself." He nodded his head slightly and smirked.

Kyle pulled his shirt down as far as it would go. "Cut it out, this is already super awkward and weird."

"Only because you're making it that way. You were just putting your tongue in my mouth like 45 seconds ago and you seemed just fine."

Kyle glared at him, still pulling his shirt down over the front of his pants. "What are we even doing right now, anyway? I think it's pretty obvious how I feel but I never know with you because you insist on being so inscrutable."

"Inscrutable, me? I just put the moves on you because I've been beating around the bush for like 2 years now and I couldn't take it anymore. You're the one who pretends everything is normal and like you don't notice all the little hints I've been dropping forever."

"Why didn't you just come out and tell me how you felt if I'm so clueless?" Kyle snapped.

"Yeah, like it's really that easy." Stan rolled his eyes. "But, fine, if that's what you want. Look, i like you. I really like you and, well, I don't just want to be your friend anymore, okay? Is that clear enough for you or did you need more convincing?"

Kyle could feel his face growing hot and now his heart was pounding so hard he was becoming dizzy. He turned away because he couldn't look at Stan anymore, with his naked emotions right there on his face. A cool breeze brushed against his face, feeling blessedly cold against his burning cheeks and he felt himself starting to calm down a little. Slowly, Stan's words were beginning to sink in so he could process them, and he dared to hope that everything would be ok; that what he wanted could actually happen. His breath caught in his throat when he felt Stan's arms circle around his neck, and he was being pulled against his broad chest.

"So, what do you think? Am I being crazy here?" Stan murmured against Kyle's hair. Kyle could feel tears starting to burn his eyes and he didn't know why; maybe a combination of the booze and being suddenly so tired, he wasn't sure. He gazed up at the stars and slowly brought his hands to rest on Stan's arm encircling him, and he clutched him softly. He shook his head slightly.

"No, you're not being crazy. I just didn't think this could ever happen. Never in a million years, actually. I don't even know if I can believe any of this is happening."

Stan chuckled softly and nuzzled against Kyle. He held him closer. "Dude, I am so glad we decided to steal booze, get wasted, and confess our forbidden passion for one another tonight. I'm having a great time."

"I wasn't aware that's what we'd be doing, but hey, since we're getting everything out in the open," Kyle laughed, "why the hell not? I'm so glad I don't have to keep pretending I'm not watching you undress in the locker room."

"Well, now you went and made this super awkward, dude." Stan hugged him closer anyway.

They had ended up spending all night next to Stark's Pond, drinking multiple beers and just talking until the sun glimmered and rose over the mountains. They had parted on Kyle's street with a quick and breathless kiss and he hadn't even minded too much when his parents reamed him out for being gone all night and not calling. He'd ended up being grounded for two weeks which also didn't bother him too much because he'd been able to finish up the summer reading and mull over every detail of his night with Stan. Every kiss, every confession, every second; he'd turned them all over in his mind and analyzed them from every angle. The memories had left him deliriously happy one second and terribly embarrassed the next. What if it was just the booze making Stan say those things? What if he pretended the whole thing had never happened?

He'd agonized over what would happen next every second of his punishment. When he was finally free and could leave the house he wasn't sure what he should even do. Call Stan? Just stop by his house and knock on the door? He had nearly fainted when he opened his front door and seen Stan hanging out on the front steps, just relaxing and playing on his phone.

"Uh, hey." Kyle had said, feeling shy.

Stan put his phone in his pocket and stood up, smiling. "Hey. The guys were thinking of going over to the park and playing some basketball. You in?"

Kyle had nodded and it had felt completely natural when Stan held out his hand and he'd taken it. It had also felt so right when they'd shared a soda at the park and Stan had put his arm around him like it was second nature. Kyle felt a crazy rush of euphoria just from feeling him pull him closer into a one-armed hug, in front of everyone. Naturally, they'd had to deal w bullshit comments from their friends (Cartman, especially), but it didn't take away from their happiness. He couldn't believe how quickly everything was moving...like they'd always been together.

He wished he could say that they'd spent every day of summer together but life naturally intervened. Kyle had always been really dedicated to his studies and one day going to medical school so even in summer he had a pretty full schedule. Through his father's connections he'd managed to land an internship in a urology office and actually got to sit in on a couple of surgeries. Kyle was on the fence about the more stomach-turning parts of practicing medicine but after seeing actual live procedures being performed he was even more excited about being a doctor. He'd also signed up to be a counselor at a day camp being held at the rec center and did some odd jobs around his father's office. Sometimes he was so busy that days passed at a time and he didn't even get to see Stan.

Stan, to his credit, was super supportive of Kyle's future plans but that didn't mean he didn't become noticeably perturbed when he couldn't see him as often as he would've liked. Kyle obsessively checked his phone to see if he'd received a text from Stan and felt a pang of guilt when he saw that he'd missed a call from him. There was even a night where he crept out of his house after midnight to meet Stan; risking the wrath of his parents and potentially being grounded again. He couldn't help it; he just had to see him.

Whenever the rare moment came around where he had nothing to do he'd rush to Stan's house and they'd spend hours in his room, Kyle curled up in his bed and being kissed everywhere his clothes didn't cover. They had gotten dangerously close to going further than Kyle really felt comfortable with, but Stan was understanding about him wanting to take things slow. In fact, he thought it was a good idea.

"There's no use rushing things. It's not like I'm going anywhere," Stan had said as he kissed along Kyle's neck and rubbed his thigh through his jeans. Kyle was practically panting he was so turned on, and he gladly opened his mouth when Stan kissed his lips and parted them with his tongue, where it explored his mouth so warmly and imploringly. After seeing Stan and writhing against him in his sun-drenched bedroom with the fan whirring softly, stirring the papers on his desk and ruffling the dust motes in the air, he'd go home and touch himself w Stan's name on his lips. He'd moan and imagine Stan's face, and then he would come hotly into his hand; sad that he wasn't there with him but elated that one day Stan would be doing this to him and it wouldn't just be a fantasy.

After all that had happened Kyle wasn't surprised that Stan was agitated about school starting and having to spend even more time apart than they already did. They'd gotten their schedules and were happy to see that they shared the same lunch, but other than that they only shared AP English together. Ever since they had started high school Kyle was always in the advanced classes. That didn't mean Stan was a poor student; he just wasn't as focused on his studies as Kyle.

"Well, you'll be playing football again this year, right? So I won't see you bc of your practices and stuff," Kyle pointed out.

Stan kicked at the ground. "That's true. It's just that now that we're, you know, together, I just want to spend every second with you." He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "I know I'm being too clingy but I can't help it."

"I think it's sweet," Kyle said softly. He placed his hand on top of Stan's and squeezed it gently. "Look, I'll try to make as much time for us as possible, okay? Even if I'm not with you all the time that doesn't mean I'm not thinking about you."

Stan turned to him with the dying sun glinting off of his dark hair and smiled. "Same here."


	2. Chapter 2

**I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed**  
**And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.**  
**(I think I made you up inside my head.)**  
  
**God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:**  
**Exit seraphim and Satan's men:**  
**I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.**

**-Mad Girl's Love Song, Sylvia Plath**

*******

The first day of school dawned hot and humid. Kyle was sweating as soon as he got out of the shower and he was feeling pretty gross by the time he made it to Harbuck's to meet Stan, Cartman, and Kenny to grab coffees before heading over to the school. He sat down at their table and Stan handed him his usual; an extra large vanilla latte with a triple shot.

"Dude, you should just break down and get an iced coffee or a frap or something. It's too hot to be drinking that," Cartman said, stuffing a huge breakfast sandwich in his face.

"Ugh, iced coffee. I seriously don't understand drinking coffee that isn't hot." Kyle replied, taking a sip of his drink.  
  
Stan wiped foam from his upper lip and smirked. "Dude, you're so picky."

"Jesus, can you guys give it a rest already? We haven't even started the school year yet and i'm already sick of you two." Cartman said, rolling his eyes. "I'm just glad that only one of you is in my homeroom so I don't have to deal with this every single morning."

"Back off, Cartman," Kenny said. He took a sip of a small black coffee. "Did you guys hear that that weird dude Mark moved back to town?"

Kyle's ears perked up at the name. "Mark? That homeschool kid? He's back?"

"Oh, my god, that guy is the best! Remember when he kicked your ass, Kyle? That was awesome!" Cartman started cracking up.

"Shut up, Cartman," Stan glared at him. "Are you for real, Kenny? Did he really move back to South Park?"

"I mean, I saw him when I was working at the gas station this summer. Him and his sister came in a couple of times." Kenny shrugged. "I just assumed they had moved back."

"This isn't good," Kyle groaned. "That dude hates me."

"Well, you did totally hit on his sister, man." Kenny remarked while squirreling away splenda packets in his pocket.

"I didn't hit on her. I just thought I liked her. I mean, she was super smart and I thought she was cute at the time." Kyle took the lid off his latte so he could stir in a little more almond milk. His thoughts drifted back to elementary school and...Rebecca, was that her name? Yes, Rebecca. At the time he had thought that she was really sweet and he had liked the fact that she seemed so smart and focused on her studies, much like himself. It wasn't until later and his subsequent ass-kicking at the hands of her brother that he'd realized that it was more of a passing curiosity. Now he couldn't imagine being attracted to her bc he was so tangled up in his feelings for Stan, and had been for a long time. He speculated that maybe he had transferred his actual longing for Stan onto her bc he had thought that she was what he was supposed to like. Who even knew anymore; he just didn't want to deal with her psychotic brother again.

"They seemed normal enough, I guess," Kenny was saying as Kyle broke from his thoughts. "They're still super close and awkward but other than that I didn't notice anything weird."

Stan pulled his phone out of his pocket to glance at the time. "Come on, you guys, we better hurry. We have like 15 minutes."

They all gathered up their bags and drinks and headed out of the Harbucks, the oppressive heat slamming them all in the face. For a fleeting moment Kyle wished that he had actually purchased an iced coffee instead but thought better of it; iced coffee was sickening as far as he was concerned.

****

"I'll meet you right here after class and we can walk to the cafeteria together, okay?" Stan was saying as Kyle slammed his locker shut. For the first half of the day they didn't have any classes together so they were going to be separated for the next couple of hours. Kyle nodded and pulled his messenger bag onto his shoulder. He leaned into Stan's kiss on his forehead, feeling glum. He missed him already.

"Don't forget, okay?" He asked, grinning.

"Don't be dumb, dude. I'll probably get here first." Stan replied, backing away.

"I'm going to hold you to that."

"You do that." Stan smirked and turned away. He waved over his shoulder as he hurried away to his homeroom. Kyle sighed and walked slowly into his own homeroom, scanning the room for a place to sit. In the corner Cartman was reading a comic book and eating chips and Kenny was sitting in the middle of the room, his head on his desk. It looked like he was trying to sneak in one last nap before the school year officially started. Kyle walked over and deposited his bag on the desk in front of him.

"Well, this sucks," Kyle said as he sat down. "We're all in here together so that means that Stan is going to be in homeroom all by himself."

Kenny yawned but didn't open his eyes. "He'll be fine, Kyle. You may not realize this but Stan is a big boy and he can take care of himself."

"I'm aware of that, Kenny. I was just saying, is all."

"Uh huh." Kenny folded his arms under his head, his eyes still closed.

"Hey, Kyle! Psst!" He turned around to see Cartman gesturing towards the door. Glancing over, his heart started to thud in his chest. Mark was standing there, looking bored. He had gotten a lot taller and his hair was styled differently but it was definitely Mark Cotswolds. Kyle quickly looked away before he could notice him staring at him. He could hear Cartman laughing hysterically in the corner.

"What is that fat ass laughing about now? I'm trying to sleep here." Kenny grumbled, opening his eyes and sitting up reluctantly. He looked towards the front of the room and his eyes widened. "Dude, Kyle, it's Mark."

"Yeah, I already noticed that, Kenny. Hey, switch places with me so I can hide behind you." He started to pick up his bag when he noticed Kenny giving him a disgusted look. "What?"

"Dude, for real? What kind of man are you? You really want to hide behind your friends instead of just facing him? He kicked your ass like 10 years ago...I doubt he gives a shit about some petty crap that happened in elementary school."

Kyle flushed and set his bag back down. He knew Kenny was right but he still didn't want to just sit there and wait for Mark to go nuts on him again. "It wasn't 10 yrs ago. It was more like 8..."

"So? It still happened when we were all dumb kids. Just relax and stop making a big deal out of nothing. Goddamn."

Kyle gulped and sat back in his seat, trying to calm down. Realistically, he knew what Kenny was saying was true but he still felt unsettled. He hadn't seen Mark since he'd moved away from South Park the summer after 3rd grade, but he could still remember how unhinged he'd become when he found out that Kyle was interested in his sister. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead & he tried to take deep breaths to alleviate his anxiety but he still felt really nervous. He nearly jumped a foot out of his chair when the bell suddenly rang. He could hear Kenny snickering behind him and his hands clenched into fists under his desk.

_You need to calm the fuck down already. Why are you freaking out like this over something that happened years ago?! This guy probably doesn't even remember you. Get a fucking grip!_

He willed himself to relax, at least outwardly, but kept tabs on Mark in his peripheral vision as he made his way to a desk on the far side of the room. Thankfully, he didn't seem too interested in anyone else as he sat down, his attention focused on his phone instead. The rest of the period passed smoothly with the morning announcements blaring over the PA system and students asking questions about their schedules. Kyle idly checked his phone (being careful not to let the teacher see; one of the announcements had been about cracking down on phone usage in class that year) and was happy to see a text from Stan:

Is it time for lunch yet? ;)

Kyle couldn't help but smile stupidly as he responded:

God, I wish. You'll never believe who's in my homeroom.

The bell rang before Stan could respond. Pulling his crumpled schedule out of his pocket, Kyle checked to see where he needed to go next.

"What's your next class?" Kenny asked.

"Physics, great. I was hoping to have that class later in the day. I'm not even really awake until third period." Kyle groaned.

"Lucky you. I'm off to History," Kenny replied, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "I'll catch you and Stan at lunch."

"Cool, see you later, man." Kyle stood up and joined the crush of students as they made their way out into the hallway, taking care to stay as far away from Mark as possible. Mark still seemed completely engrossed in whatever was going on on his phone and didn't even bother to look up for the most part. Kyle hurried down the hallway, trying to avoid being elbowed in the face or carried away in the tide of students. He was thankful that the school didn't really seem as large as it used to, and he had no problem finding his next class. He wasn't surprised to see Wendy already waiting when he stepped inside. He imagined they would be sharing the majority of the same classes and knew that she was even more cutthroat about grades than he was. She nodded at him as he walked in and sat down next to her in the front row.

"Let me guess, you're taking nothing but AP courses this year?" She asked. She didn't bother to say good morning, of course.

"Naturally. You?"

"Yup." She pulled out her textbook. He noticed that there were already bookmarks and post-its sticking out of it. She'd probably read the whole thing and done all of the assignments already; he wouldn't put it past her. "I've heard this course is pretty tough so I wanted to come prepared."

"I don't really see you having any issues." Kyle remarked, pulling out his pristine textbook. He hadn't even opened it yet.

One by one the other students filtered in, with Butters and Token among them. The bell was just about to ring when Mark walked through the door, making Kyle immediately tense up. He drifted towards the back of the classroom and out of Kyle's line of sight.

"Hey, are you okay? You look really pale all of a sudden." Wendy whispered.

"Uh, I'm fine. I just feel a little tired." Kyle replied.

"Well, if you say so." She looked over her shoulder. "Who's that new guy? He looks really familiar but I don't know why."

Kyle swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to answer, but the teacher called the class to attention before he could respond. The teacher went through attendance quickly (Mark's "here" was exceptionally languid and disinterested, Kyle noticed) and jumped into the syllabus with very little preamble. It looked like AP classes were going to be all business this year; he could feel the air of tension coming from Wendy. Clearly, she was all business this year, too; no doubt vying for the coveted spot of valedictorian. Kyle groaned, already feeling tired.

The period seemed to fly by due to the teacher's intensity and before Kyle could take a breath another bell was already ringing. The rest of his morning passed in much the same way; bells ringing, overzealous teachers, and Mark walking into the room at the last moment, making Kyle's heart start pounding like mad. Wendy was indeed in almost all of his classes and they usually sat next to one another, conferring over notes and bouncing questions off of one another. Before he knew it, he was back at his locker waiting for Stan to walk to the cafeteria together. He was pouting when Stan finally rounded the corner.

"What's up with that face?" Stan laughed.

"You said you'd be here first, jerk." Kyle crossed his arms huffily.

"I got held up in Earth Science, dude. Relax." He put his arm around Kyle's shoulders. "I'm here now, aren't I? Loosen up; you're so tense."

"I'm always tense."

"Tell me about it." They started walking, Kyle leaning against Stan's side.

"Sorry I didn't get a chance to text you back...this morning has been crazy. Who's in your homeroom?"

"Oh, just Mark," Kyle replied. "In fact, he's in all of my morning classes. I guess I'm just lucky, huh?"

"It makes sense, though. I mean, he's a brain like you are, right? Of course he would be in all of your AP classes." Stan rubbed Kyle's head playfully. Kyle batted him away, annoyed at the gesture and his flippant attitude.

"The school year just started and everything is already ruined for me. That psycho is going to beat me to a pulp and you're here trying to be funny about it."

They arrived at the cafeteria and made their way to the snack line, where they could buy pizza and cheese fries instead of the usual school fare. They waved to Kenny who had staked out their favorite table from last year, his brown lunch bag laid out in front of him. Cartman was there too, scarfing down nachos. Butters, Craig, and Jimmy would probably join them before too long.

Stan fished his wallet out of his back pocket while Kyle grabbed a tray. "I'm not trying to be funny about anything, Kyle. I just think you need to lighten up about this. That crap with Mark happened when we were little kids...he probably doesn't even remember anything about it."

"God, you're starting to sound like Kenny." Kyle slammed a carton of chocolate milk down on the tray.

"Well, if that's what Kenny said maybe you should listen to him. He's just being logical." Stan reached up and took a slice of pizza out of the window. He put it back when he saw Kyle wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Sorry, I forgot you hate pineapple on your pizza."

"It's evil," Kyle said. "Just like iced coffee it doesn't make any sense."

"Like I said before, you are way too picky, dude."

"I can't help it if I like things a certain way." Kyle responded haughtily.

They paid for their food and sat down at their table. Cartman had finished the nachos and moved onto a huge strawberry cupcake. Kenny was munching on an apple and looking longingly at Cartman as he demolished the cupcake in two bites. Kyle slid a Coke over to Kenny wordlessly and he gratefully took it.

"Okay, one garden salad with no tomatoes, and a slice of plain, boring cheese pizza with no pineapple or pepperoni," Stan said as he handed Kyle his food. Ignoring him, Kyle primly drizzled vinaigrette on his salad. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a familiar person entering the cafeteria.

"Jesus fucking Christ, there he is again! I can't believe this!" He said, throwing his fork down. "This is unbelievable!"

"Wait, what? What's unbelievable?" Stan followed Kyle's furious look, his eyes settling on Mark as he walked across the cafeteria, once again engrossed in his phone. "Dude, is that Mark? He's gotten so tall." He took a big bite of pizza.

"He looks like he's waiting for someone," Kenny chimed in.

Mark had stopped in front of a row of vending machines and was looking around expectantly. A smile slid across his face as a girl bounded up to him, her long brown hair falling down her back. Kyle couldn't see her face but he had a feeling he knew who she was.

"Damn, is that homeschool's sister? She got like, super fucking hot, man." Cartman said in between bites of tater tots.

The girl turned towards them and Kyle's worst fears were confirmed. Both Rebecca and Mark were back in South Park and now they were all going to the same school. He groaned. "You guys, this is terrible. I have to deal with those two psychos at the same time." He hid behind Stan as Mark and Rebecca walked through the cafeteria and out the side doors to the lunch tables in the courtyard. Rebecca had grabbed a hold of her brother's arm and was holding it closely.

"What's the big deal?" Stan asked. "So they've moved back to town; why are you losing your mind over this? Besides, if anything happens, I'll protect you." He grinned.

"That's so reassuring," Kyle said, rolling his eyes. "I know I'm probably freaking out over nothing and being totally paranoid and ridiculous, but I just can't help it. I have so much going on this year and I just don't want any extra, unnecessary stress."

"Then why don't you take some pressure off of yourself? You always do this, dude. You overload yourself with super hard classes and extracurricular crap and then you have a nervous breakdown by the middle of the year. Not to mention you drive the rest of us crazy in the process." Stan opened his carton of milk and took a sip. Butters and Jimmy came over carrying trays and sat down before Kyle could formulate a response.

"Hey f-fellas. What's the h-h-happs?" Jimmy said, cheerfully. Butters plunked down a brown lunch bag and a stack of books. Soon after their arrival Craig and Clyde showed up too, setting down lunch trays and bags.

"Hey, did anyone else notice how fucking fine that homeschool kid's sister got since we were kids?" Clyde asked. He was sporting his letterman jacket and a bottle of Mountain Dew. He and Stan were both on the football team but Clyde liked to show off that fact more than he did. He'd been going out with Bebe off and on since they were kids but they were always fighting about one thing or another. Usually it had to do with Clyde flirting with other girls so it made perfect sense that he was the first person to bring up Rebecca.

"Wait, is she in your classes?" Kyle asked, puzzled. Clyde was taking all remedial courses due to the fact that he didn't give two shits about schoolwork or studying.

"Yeah, she's in a few and I have to tell you, she is looking pretty good these days." Clyde replied, a wolfish look on his face that thoroughly annoyed Kyle.

"I thought she was supposed to be super smart or something." Stan remarked, seemingly reading Kyle's mind. "Why is she in your classes?"

"Fuck you, dude." Clyde said, taking a giant drink of mountain dew. He exploded with a massive belch a few seconds later.

"Hey, didn't that homeschool kid kick your ass in 3rd grade or something, Kyle?" Craig asked with his usual tact.

"Yes, Craig, he did." Kyle responded in annoyance.

"Who's the h-homeschool kid, fellas? Fill me in." Jimmy asked. He hadn't moved to South Park until after Mark and Rebecca had already moved away so he'd never met them.

"We met him back in 3rd grade during this big spelling bee," Stan explained, rubbing Kyle's leg soothingly under the table. "His parents homeschooled him for his entire life so he was super weird and awkward and we gave him a really hard time about it after he started going to regular school with us. Kyle had a crush on his sister, Rebecca, and her brother kicked the shit out of him when he found out because he thought Kyle corrupted her."

"I know why they moved back!" Butters chimed in out of nowhere, smiling around at the table obliviously. "I help out in the office in the morning and I overheard Mark talking when he came in to pick up his and his sister's schedules. Their parents got a divorce and they decided to come back here with their mom."

"Well, that makes sense, I guess." Kyle said. "I just hope they both leave me alone."

"Dude, you're just being paranoid. Just let it go and leave the past in the past where it belongs." Stan said.

"I call dibs on homeschool's sister!" Clyde said, eyeing everyone at the table like he was challenging them. Kyle just sighed and went back to eating his salad.

******

Kyle's classes in the afternoon didn't pass nearly as quickly as they had in the morning. The only bright spot was AP English because he shared the class with Stan. They sat next to each other and exchanged goofy notes the entire period, laughing silently as the teacher droned on about what she expected from them that year and what books they would be focusing on. Mark wasn't in this particular class which helped improve Kyle's mood even more.

He was exhausted by the time the last bell finally rang. He practically dragged himself to his locker where Stan was waiting so they could walk home together. On their way out of the building they passed by Clyde and Rebecca who seemed to be having a pretty one-sided conversation, with Clyde leaning against the wall and leering at her. Rebecca just seemed puzzled and a little flustered; her cheeks flushed a cherry red. Mark was nowhere in sight.

They stepped out into the oppressive heat, Kyle holding up his hand to shade his eyes from the sun. Stan took his other hand and held it loosely as they walked through the courtyard.

"Clyde sure works fast, doesn't he?" Kyle said.

"Yep, he always has. I'm sure he's going to be having a huge blowup with Bebe before too long." Stan replied.

They turned onto the street right in front of the school where the sidewalk was shaded by huge elm trees. Kyle was relieved to be out of the sun and could feel sweat dripping down his back. He couldn't wait to get to Stan's house and into the air conditioning. He also couldn't wait to get there because Stan's parents were both still at work and wouldn't be home until almost 7:30. Shelly was away at college so that meant that the whole house was theirs for the next couple of hours. It was during these long, warm afternoons that they could curl up in Stan's bed away from prying eyes and just be together.

"I'm glad we decided not to tell our parents about us for the time being." Stan said as they turned onto his street. "That way I can have you all to myself for awhile and I don't have to worry about them nagging me or whatever about being home alone." He squeezed Kyle's hand and smiled at him.

"We'll have to tell them eventually, right? If we don't somebody else is just going to do it...you know how nobody in this town can mind their own damn business." Kyle was actually surprised that nobody had let slip that they were a couple already. All of their friends knew for the most part and people were always running their mouths.

"Yeah, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, I'm just enjoying having you in my bed with no interruptions." Stan responded as they walked up to his front door and he pulled a set of keys out of his pocket. Kyle flushed at his words. He had always been more bold and open about the things they did together up in Stan's bed, while Kyle was more reserved and shy. Stan could easily tell him everything he'd like to do to him, while Kyle would think dirty thoughts he could never possibly say.

They stepped into Stan's house, which was blessedly cool and dark; the curtains drawn against the heat and sunshine blazing outside. The only sounds were the lone ticking of a clock in the kitchen and the humming of the fridge. Stan dropped his bag on the couch and headed for the kitchen.

"I'm gonna grab a water and something to eat so we can just head upstairs. What do you want? We have diet coke, lemonade...?"

"I'll just take a lemonade," Kyle said, starting for the stairs. "Do you mind if I borrow one of your shirts? I feel so sweaty and gross."

"Sure, take whatever you want. I'll be up in just a second."

Kyle ascended the stairs and went to Stan's room, shutting the door behind him. He quickly shed his shirt and threw it on a chair, relishing the feeling of the ceiling fan throwing cool air across his damp skin. Goosebumps rose along his arms and his back as he rifled through Stan's dresser. He didn't bother to turn around when he heard the door open and close behind him, and continued to search for something to wear. He was just about to pull a shirt out of the drawer when he felt Stan's arms wrap around his stomach slowly. A moment later, Stan's lips were on his shoulder, trailing kisses along it and up his neck. Kyle shivered and leaned back against him, closing his eyes.

"You know, you don't really have to put a shirt on. I'm just fine with how you are right now," Stan murmured, his lips very close to Kyle's ear. His warm breath on his skin almost made Kyle moan, and he reached out to grab the dresser because his knees felt a little weak.

"I'm actually a little cold now," Kyle responded in a breathy voice. "With the, uh, fan and air conditioning on, you know?" His whole body seemed to flush as Stan continued to kiss along his ear and neck and shoulder. Kyle was beginning to feel so turned on that he could barely form a coherent thought. Stan ran a finger under the waistband of his boxers, teasing the skin there; he also decided to bite Kyle's shoulder softly. Now Kyle really couldn't think clearly.

"I think I can keep you warm enough, babe. I'm really not worried about that. Come here." He led him to the bed and Kyle sat on its edge, looking up at Stan expectantly. Stan took off his shirt and kicked off his shoes, and Kyle saw how his jeans were slung low on his hips; the waistband of his plaid boxers standing out starkly against his pale skin. He walked over to where Kyle was waiting for him and pushed him onto his back, his head resting against the pillows. Stan laid on top of him, cradling Kyle's face in his hands as he kissed him slowly and deeply; his tongue licking his lips open and then exploring his mouth. Kyle could feel Stan's firm stomach resting against his own, and he arched his back so that the entire length of his abdomen and groin were pressed tightly against Stan's.

"Mmm, you feel so good." Stan said, softly. He was running his fingers through Kyle's hair. Slowly he slid his tongue along the column of Kyle's throat, nipping his skin lightly with his teeth every now and again. Pleasure bloomed in Kyle's stomach and he almost felt hazy and drugged from what Stan was doing to his body. He didn't mind that Stan usually took control like this; if anything, he preferred it and reveled in the way he seemed to take possession of not only his body, but his mind. It was almost like he was a drug and Stan couldn't get enough of him; and his hands and mouth would rove possessively over every inch of Kyle's form.

Stan moved down Kyle's throat, leaving kisses on his collar bones and down along his chest. He moved slowly down Kyle's abdomen, licking and kissing the faint ginger hair that trailed from his navel down to the edge of his boxers. Kyle felt so overwhelmed that he almost didn't notice that Stan was beginning to undo his belt buckle, and with a trembling hand he reached out to stop him.  
"No, I-I'm not ready for that yet, Stan." He said.

"I wouldn't say that," Stan responded, smiling darkly. He sat up and his hand came to rest on the front of Kyle's jeans, startling him as he squeezed the area gently. He gasped at the sensation of being touched there, as he had never allowed Stan to do it in the past. It was very obvious that he was incredibly aroused, and he seemed to become more turned on as Stan gripped him a little tighter; almost possessively.

"You feel very ready to me."

Kyle turned his head away, feeling the cool pillow on his cheek. He couldn't look at Stan while he was touching him like that, and he could feel himself blushing. "That's not what I meant. I just..."

"You just what? Kyle, you're driving me crazy here. I've been patient and waiting since the beginning of the summer...I don't know how much longer I can stand it." Stan said, his hand not budging. His voice had a slight edge to it that made Kyle nervous.

"I'm not trying to upset you, I just think we're moving too fast."

Stan sighed. "Okay, okay. Look, what if I just touch you over your boxers? Is that okay? You don't even have to take off your pants...I'll just push them down a little."

Kyle peered at him out of the corner of his eye, considering. "Well, I guess that would be alright. But you can't look, okay? You have to promise."

"Fine, fine, I won't look. Although, trust me, you don't have anything I haven't seen before." Stan replied.

"That may be the case but I just don't want you looking at me yet. I still have to get used to all of this." Kyle pouted.

"I know, baby. Now hush and let me enjoy this."

Stan lay on the bed next to Kyle after he was finally allowed to undo his belt and nudge his jeans down over his hips. Once again, he placed his large, hot hand on Kyle over his boxers, making him whimper slightly as he adjusted to the sensation of having his cock stroked by someone other than himself. He was so aroused that he could barely stand it, and as Stan closed his hand around him and started to pump along his shaft slowly, he thought he was going to pass out because it just felt so good. Feeling almost hypnotized, he raised his hips slightly, pressing himself into Stan's hand even more.

"See? You like that don't you?" Stan said huskily, and he started to move his hand faster. "Come here, I want to kiss you as you come." He reached his hand around Kyle's head and turned his face towards him, hungrily kissing his lips as he continued to stroke him. The heat increased in Kyle's body and the sensation that he was getting ready to explode any moment built inside his cock, leaving him breathless.

He was pushed over the edge when Stan thrust his tongue inside his mouth and gripped him just a little bit tighter; pumping him like he was born to do this for Kyle and Kyle alone. Kyle couldn't bite back a loud moan as he came in his boxers, feeling the heat of it as it connected with his skin. He felt like his entire body was on fire; like every nerve was being electrified and lights and shooting stars were blazing before his eyes and inside of his brain. When his body finally relaxed and he started coming back down to earth, Stan kissed him more aggressively than before, like they were making an unspoken agreement that Kyle belonged to him and no one else.

He lay there for a moment, dazed and riddled with the aftershocks of an amazing orgasm, while Stan gripped his hip and pulled him closer to him. Nibbling on his earlobe, he whispered in Kyle's ear softly, "I knew you'd like that. Just wait until...."

Kyle looked at him tiredly. "Until what?"

"Until you let me do everything I want to do to you. It's going to be amazing."

"I'm just sorry that I didn't, you know, reciprocate." Kyle said, feeling weirdly bashful all of a sudden.

"Oh, yeah? Well, I can help you take care of that." Stan said, starting to unbutton his jeans.

"No, stop! I can't!" Kyle yelled, grabbing Stan's hand.

"That's what I thought." Stan laughed. He grabbed Kyle's chin and tilted his face towards him. He kissed him lightly on the lips. "You are so fucking cute."

"And you're a pervert." Kyle said, sitting up.

"Guilty as charged. But, hey, one of us has to be. If it were up to you we wouldn't even be holding hands at this point. You're just so...god, what's the word? Chaste, that's it. You are definitely chaste."

"You make me sound like some kind of princess, Stan. Ugh, I seriously need to take a shower. Now I'm sweaty and I, uh, well..." He cringed as he stood up, his sticky boxers clinging to him.

"I mean, you do kind of act like a princess, dude. You're pretty high maintenance, you know." Stan said. He was stretched out on his side, his head propped on his hand and he looked amused.

"Whatever. Can I have a plastic bag? I need something to put my clothes in when I go home because I am not wearing these boxers for another second."

"Sure, yeah. Go take a shower and I'll grab you a bag. Hey, I can even join you if you like." Stan smiled brightly.

"No, thanks. I can handle this alone. I guess my jeans are still okay to wear, and my t-shirt feels a lot dryer so I can put that back on. Besides, I can't just go home wearing your clothes, my mom would never shut up about it. Just let me borrow a pair of your boxers." Kyle started rooting through the top drawer of Stan's dresser and pulled out a pair.

By the time Kyle had finished showering and dressing it was almost 6:30. He groaned when he noticed the time.

"Dude, I have to go. It's getting kind of late."

"What? But my parents won't be home for almost another hour. You don't have to go yet." Stan said, grabbing his hand.

"No, I really should. I have homework and my mom wants me home for dinner by 7. Besides, I need to get a jump on the reading for my classes because they are seriously not playing around this year. I don't want to get behind." Kyle stood up and grabbed his bags.

"Okay, fine. You'll be coming over tomorrow after school though, right?"

Kyle sighed. "I can't. Tutoring starts tomorrow. I'll be at school until 5:30 at least. Oh, and then I'm interning at the doctor's office the day after that. If I play my cards right I'll even get to sit in on a vasectomy reversal." He glanced at Stan, excitedly. He was surprised to see the annoyed look on Stan's face.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"The year has barely started and you're already crazy busy." Stan complained. "We only have like one class together and now I won't even get to see you outside of school."

"That isn't true. I'll be free Friday night and besides, it's not my fault that you didn't want to do AP classes." Kyle replied, frowning.

"I'm just not obsessed with my grades and studying like you are." Stan snapped, crossing his arms.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize giving a shit about my future was a bad thing! Excuse me while I throw everything away so that I can spend every waking moment with you!"

"So spending time with me is the same as 'throwing everything away' as far as you're concerned? Wow, Kyle, go ahead and tell me how you really feel."

"Ugh, that's not what I meant and you know it!" Kyle said, throwing up his hands in annoyance.

"So what did you mean?" Stan asked more softly now. He sounded hurt.

Kyle went and sat next to him, softening at the hurt tone in Stan's voice. "I just meant that I have a lot of goals that are really important to me, and I..." He looked away, trying to formulate his thoughts. "I guess I'm just really bad at balancing my work with a relationship because I've never had to do that before, you know? Like, I have to get used to doing certain things with you, and I also have to figure out a way to have enough time to do everything I want. I'm just trying to figure everything out and it's harder than I thought it would be."

"Well, I guess I could be more understanding about your schedule." Stan said. "It's not like I didn't know about how intense you are about school and volunteering and stuff before we got together. You were pretty clear about it."

"Why don't we go do something this Friday? Like, I don't know, go on an actual date? What do you think?" Kyle suggested.

"I'd like that," Stan said. He stood up and stretched, his long torso taut. For some reason the motion kind of turned Kyle on.

"Walk me to the door before I lose my mind and jump your bones." He gathered up his stuff and started towards the door, avoiding Stan's attempt to grab his ass.


	3. Chapter 3

### "I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;  
Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the spider to the fly.  
"There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin,  
And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in."  
"O no, no," said the little fly, "for I've often heard it said,  
They NEVER, NEVER WAKE again, who sleep upon YOUR bed."

-The Spider and the Fly: A Fable by Mary Howitt

****

The second day of school passed very much like the first right down to the blistering heat. Kyle was starting to relax about the Mark situation though. So far, he hadn't so much as glanced at him, and other than occasionally answering a question in class, he kept mostly to himself unless he was with his sister. Instead of focusing on that, Kyle tried to make up for the argument he'd had with Stan by being extra affectionate.

During lunch, they opted to sit outside so they could have some privacy. Kyle rested his head on Stan's shoulder as they lounged in the shade of a large tree. In the distance, they could see Mark and Rebecca sitting together at one of the tables, the summer breeze ruffling their hair. Rebecca was laughing and holding his arm again, her long brown curls cascading over her shoulders. She was wearing an off the shoulder white blouse and a long blue skirt. Mark was looking like a prep in a polo shirt and khakis. The only time he seemed even remotely animated was when he was with her.

"I've never seen a brother and sister that close before," Stan remarked idly as he sipped a bottle of coke. "Shelly and I could never be like those two."

"I'm pretty sure they're twins, right? That would explain why they're so weirdly close to each other, I guess." Kyle responded. "Hey, what's Clyde doing?"

They watched as Clyde walked over to Mark and Rebecca's table, a smug look on his face. He tapped Rebecca on the shoulder and she turned around, surprised. He sat down beside her without even acknowledging Mark.

"I can't hear what they're saying but Mark looks pretty pissed, don't you think?" Stan asked.

Kyle nodded. Mark did look pretty irritated at the fact that Clyde had invited himself to their table and was openly flirting with Rebecca right in front of him. He even reached out and brushed a curl off of Rebecca's forehead, that insufferable shit-eating grin never leaving his face. She turned bright red while Mark seethed.

"He's pretty brave considering Mark kicked your ass for way less."

"Yeah, well, Clyde's a cocky moron. He doesn't really think anything through." Kyle rolled his eyes. "He actually deserves to get his ass kicked."

The tension came to a head when Clyde dared to put his hand on Rebecca's leg. Mark stood up and grabbed Clyde by the front of his shirt, dragging him to his feet. Clyde, taken aback, almost stumbled and fell. Mark got really close to Clyde's face and said something that made him go pale, and he tried to back away unsuccessfully. Mark had his fist clenched and pulled back, ready to punch him in the face. Clyde shook his head and said something that seemed to diffuse Mark's anger slightly; he threw him on the ground and just stared at him until he slunk off. Mark turned to Rebecca and grabbed her by the arm and she stood up silently. In fact, she hadn't said a word the whole time, not even to tell Mark to stop. She just looked resigned to his outbursts and allowed herself to be led away, her head down.

"What the hell just happened?" Kyle asked. "See what I mean now? That dude is fucking nuts!"

Stan wiped a trickle of sweat from his forehead and leaned back against the tree. "Well, yeah, clearly. I never said he wasn't crazy. I just don't think you need to worry about him bothering you as long as you leave his sister alone. Or do I need to be concerned about you putting the moves on her again?"

"Don't be stupid, of course not. Do you really need to ask questions like that after, you know, what we did yesterday?" He blushed and looked away.

"Mmm, yeah. That was great," Stan said, looking dreamy. "I actually like how shy you are; it'll be fun corrupting you."

"Corrupting me? You're insane."

"It's your own fault for being so cute and innocent," Stan countered.

"No, it's your fault for always having your mind in the gutter."

"And you love it," Stan said, putting his arm around him and pulling him close. Kyle snuggled up against his side, breathing in the spicy cologne he liked to wear. He suddenly felt so relaxed and at peace, being outside with Stan while lazy clouds drifted across the hard blue sky. Smatterings of sunlight dappled the grasses around them, drifting down through the multitude of tree branches above their heads. Thoughts and worries about the school year and his grades and Mark drifted away on a tide of happiness; as long as he could have moments like this with Stan, somehow everything would be okay.

*****

"Alright everyone, listen up. Before we get started here I just wanted to go over a couple of things..." Mr. Mackey clapped his hands and waited for the room to quiet down. It was after school in the library, and Kyle was sitting next to the freshman he'd be tutoring in Algebra for the rest of the year. The boy appeared nervous, and he kept tapping his pencil on his notebook like he was doing a drum solo. Kyle wasn't really paying attention to Mr. Mackey, pretty certain that he was just going to go through the same opening spiel as he did last year. After he'd transferred over to South Park High a couple of years ago, he'd taken over the tutoring program and didn't seem quite as harried as he did during his tenure at South Park Elementary. Kyle pulled his phone out of his pocket as discreetly as he could, smiling to see a text from Stan:

Wish you were here...and I'm pretty sure you know what "here" I'm talking about.

Kyle flushed slightly, thinking of Stan's bed and how warm his room would be even with the fan going. He could imagine his cool, white sheets and his navy blue comforter; being wrapped up in it...being wrapped up in Stan's arms....

Kyle's thoughts were interrupted by the library door opening and closing. Looking over, he was startled to see Mark standing there, looking as bored as ever. Kyle's heart started drumming painfully. No, it couldn't be...

"Oh, Mr. Cotswald, so nice to have you join us, finally," Mr. Mackey said. "Take a seat by Malcolm over there." He pointed to an empty seat next to a puny ginger kid by the windows. Mark walked over, smooth and unhurried, and sat, placing his bag in front of him. He looked up at Mr. Mackey with only mild interest.

"Anyway, as I was saying -" Mr. Mackey started speaking again but Kyle promptly tuned him out, focusing instead on Mark, who gracefully sat back in his chair and crossed his long legs. Kyle's stomach was churning with worry, and without realizing it he started to tear a piece of notebook paper into little pieces. The student he was tutoring, a chubby kid named Ben, glanced at him curiously, momentarily stopping his assault on his notebook w/ his pencil.

"Well, I guess that's everything," Mr. Mackey was saying, commencing his little speech. "If you have any questions for me, I'll be in my office." He pointed to the door of the library, where his office was situated across the hall. "Let's not have any funny business; I don't want to have to babysit you for the entire year." He gave them all a pointed look and walked out of the room, the door clicking behind him.

Kyle just sat there, staring at the back of Mark's head until Ben tapped him on the shoulder, making him jump slightly.

"Whoa, hey, sorry. You were just kind of spacing out there," he said. "Are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," Kyle responded with difficulty. His mouth suddenly felt very dry. "So, uh, let's take a look at your notes so I can see where you are." He reached out a hand.

Ben just looked sheepish. "Well, I didn't really take notes. But I do know that we're starting with chapter one!" He said, looking hopeful.

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Okay, dude, if this is going to work I need you to at least take notes. Let me see your book."

Ben handed it over and Kyle flipped it open, Mark momentarily forgotten in his annoyance. No wonder this kid was in the remedial Algebra class. "Okay, here we go. Expressions and variables." He looked at Ben, who was still sitting there blankly. "Are you going to open your notebook and, you know, take notes?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah! Sure!" Ben scrambled to open his notebook and grabbed a pencil. "I'm ready when you are!" He chirped.

"Great..." Kyle sighed.

For the next half an hour things progressed smoothly, with Kyle giving Ben very basic problems to solve and Ben (mostly) catching on. Kyle would glance over at Mark's table every now and again, where he was still sitting with his legs crossed. He had an algebra book open in his lap and it looked like he was also giving Malcolm problems to solve. He looked slightly annoyed but Kyle was beginning to think that that was just his face's natural setting.

"Okay, I think I got it," Ben said triumphantly, breaking into Kyle's scrutiny of Mark's resting bitch face. "Is this right?" He pushed his notebook over to Kyle for him to see. Surprisingly, he had answered the question correctly and Kyle told him so.

"I think we can move onto something a little bit more complicated," He said, smiling.

Ben's face fell and he looked nervous. "Oh, okay. That sounds okay, I guess."

"Relax, we're just building on the stuff you've already done," Kyle said, feeling sorry for him. Math had always come very easily for him and he actually enjoyed it. He liked how cut and dry it was, and while there were numerous ways to arrive at an answer it was always the same answer; there was very little gray area which Kyle appreciated immensely. He liked reading and analyzing books too, but sometimes it annoyed him how everything in literature was open to interpretation which just seemed to create confusion. It was nice to just have that black and white finality at times, especially when life started to get complicated.

He gave Ben another problem to solve and while he labored over his notebook, Kyle went back to studying Mark. Malcolm was handing him his notebook tentatively, Mark taking it while resting his face in his other hand, looking at it with the same amount of interest he had afforded Mr. Mackey. He saw him frown slightly, and then, while giving Malcolm a look of thinly-veiled contempt, he picked up a red pen from the table and started marking up the page; his pupil wilting at his side. Kyle felt bad for him in that moment, knowing that Mark was crucifying his answers and being very insensitive about it, too. Shaking his head with disgust, he turned back to Ben to check his answers.

The next couple of weeks passed in much the same fashion, with Kyle juggling his AP courses, interning, volunteering, and tutoring. He still managed to set aside time for Stan, who seemed to be growing more frustrated as time went by because he couldn't see Kyle as much as he'd like. Kyle managed to keep him placated, but it was difficult. It was also difficult not giving into Stan's physical advances, going farther than he really felt comfortable with, even though everything they did together felt so amazing. The pressure and the tension of Kyle's schedule and responsibilities started to wear on him, and he finally had a mini blowup at tutoring one afternoon.

He had prepared a list of problems for Ben to do while he finished up his own math homework. Actually, he was doing extra credit for his pre-calc class, which was offered almost every week. His teacher offered a "weekend challenge" every Friday with particularly difficult problems to solve, and Kyle enjoyed being one of the few students in the class who consistently did it every week. A feeling of calm had blanketed their table as they silently worked, when Kyle was pulled out of his thoughts by a loud commotion. He heard a loud thud as if a book was being slammed down on a table, and then a harsh voice:

"I can't believe you still can't do this, you moron! How many times can we go over plotting inequalities before you get it? Are you even paying attention to anything I say?!"

Mark was yelling at Malcolm, who was cowering in his chair, flushed bright red with humiliation. He looked down at his paper in shame, and Kyle could see his lip quivering like he was about to cry. Everyone in the room was staring at their table, not moving or speaking from surprise. A surge of anger coursed through Kyle, who stood up and marched over to their table before really thinking about what he was doing. Mark looked up at him in surprise when Kyle slammed his hand on the table.

"Dude, what the fuck is your problem? You've been yelling at this poor kid for weeks and guess what? It isn't helping him learn! You're supposed to be helping him, you dipshit, not fucking putting him down every chance you get! Jesus Christ, what is your deal? If you're going to be a prick why are you even tutoring in the first place?!"

Complete silence descended over the library as everyone stared at Kyle in utter shock. Mark just gaped at him, seemingly lost for words, that insufferable bored look finally gone from his face. Ben looked like he wasn't sure if he should start laughing or just keep his mouth shut, and Malcolm just seemed completely lost for words; his eyes wide and mouth hanging open slightly. Wendy, who was off in the corner with a mousy girl named Sophia just folded her arms across her chest and rolled her eyes. Butters and the kid he was helping looked scared and uncomfortable.

The only sound in the room was Kyle's ragged breaths and the hum of the clock on the wall, so when Mr. Mackey came through the library doors it made everyone jump. Thankfully, he was blissfully unaware of what was going on so he just clapped his hands and announced that that week's tutoring session was over, and that everyone was free to go once they'd cleaned up their areas. Feeling uneasy, Kyle wandered back to his table to gather up his stuff, feeling stupid and embarrassed. Ben grinned at him like he wanted to high five him for putting Mark in his place, but Kyle ignored him and crammed his books and papers in his bag. Without a word, he grabbed his bag and rushed out of the room and down the hallway into the bathroom, where he locked himself in the first stall.

Staring at the white tiles on the floor and drawing in deep, painful lungfuls of cold air, Kyle started to freak out. He couldn't believe that he'd made a scene like that, drawing everyone's attention to him and making a fool of himself. What had gotten into him? Sure, he hadn't gotten a whole lot of sleep the last few days and he felt really on edge trying to juggle all of his responsibilities, but still, that was no excuse to blow up and yell at a classmate, no matter how big of a prick he was being. He envisioned everyone's shocked faces in his mind's eye and cringed, feeling so stupid he could barely stomach it. A small part of him relished Mark's shock and surprise, but it was a small comfort.

Kyle leaned against the bathroom stall for what felt like an hour, too embarrassed to come out and risk facing his peers, until he knew he couldn't hide anymore. Pretty soon the janitors would be done cleaning the school and they'd have to lock up for the night, and he didn't want to run the risk of getting trapped in the school overnight. He came out of the stall and looked in the large mirror behind the row of sinks, his pale reflection staring back at him, wide-eyed and tired looking. His red hair was a disheveled mess of curls and his freckles stood out starkly on his skin; faint dark circles under his eyes. He looked like hell and he felt like it too. No wonder he made an ass of himself; he was falling apart. He splashed cold water on his face and it made him feel more grounded, and after drying himself off with some scratchy paper towels, he finally felt brave enough to leave the bathroom.

The hallways were mercifully empty and silent as he walked toward the exit, looking over his shoulder to make sure that nobody was lurking in the shadows. He pushed through the doors, breathing in the cool night air and feeling relieved that it was the weekend finally and he could put school out of his thoughts for a little bit. It was the first week in October so the nights were starting to become more crisp, the last gasps of Indian summer finally relinquishing its grasp on the town so Autumn could truly begin. In the murky twilight haze, faint stars were collecting in the sky, which was clear after a week's worth of rain. Kyle felt some of the tension falling from his shoulders as he began the walk home, and opted not to text Stan; relishing some much-needed alone time.

He felt guilty for a moment, knowing that Stan was probably waiting to hear from him, but he reasoned that he could just text him early the next day; as soon as he woke up. He didn't have any plans that weekend, and he figured that he could spend the whole day w Stan, just relaxing. Kyle was relieved that he'd already finished all of his homework so he could be lazy the whole weekend. He smiled at the thought and closed his eyes, enjoying the faint feeling of fall in the air. He had just decided to stop by the 7-11 on his way home to get a slurpee when he heard someone calling his name. He turned, surprised.

Mark was walking along behind him, his headphones in his ears; he was wearing a fitted black jacket and dark denim jeans. His usual annoyed, bored look had been replaced with a smirk, and he strolled over to Kyle, his hands in his pockets. For a brief, crazy second Kyle was considering running away but he stood his ground, watching Mark suspiciously. His stomach clenched up with anxiety and he knew that he was afraid of what this kid could do to him. He wasn't particularly big or imposing, if anything he was on the slender side like Kyle, but he still made him nervous.

Mark walked up to him, taking his headphones off as he got closer. His smirk smoothed out into a casual smile as he took his phone out of his pocket and swiped his finger across the screen. He put the phone and his headphones in his pocket. He ran a hand through his hair and seemed to have a hard time looking directly at Kyle; was he nervous or something? Kyle didn't think that was possible. Silence settled over them until Kyle became really uneasy.

"Uh, hey," he said. "Did you, uh, need something, or...?"

Mark finally looked at him and Kyle noticed that his eyes were very dark, appearing almost black at certain times.

"So, about what you said back there," Mark finally said, and Kyle started to feel nauseous from anxiety.

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said. I just felt really irritated and I took it out on you." Kyle said, rubbing the back of his neck; realizing just how pathetic he sounded.

To his surprise, Mark started to laugh. He could feel the irritation from before creeping up inside of his stomach. "What the hell are you laughing at?" He snapped.

"I'm just laughing at what a bad liar you are," Mark said, still snickering.

Kyle just stared at him, not sure how to respond. "I'm not really sure what that's supposed to mean," he finally managed to say.

Mark rolled his eyes and looked at Kyle, this time almost tenderly. Kyle took a step back, ready to start running if he needed to. This kid was seriously weirding him out

"Kyle, it's okay. You meant everything you said in the library so don't try to deny it now. I mean, I don't want to admit it because it's completely humiliating but you were totally right."

"Wait, what? Do you really think that?" Kyle asked, confused. He never could've anticipated Mark saying that, especially after the things he'd said to him and their tumultuous history with one another. He cocked an eyebrow at him, not knowing what to believe.

"Well, yeah. I was being a total prick to that Malcolm kid and you called me on my shit. That's actually pretty admirable." He shrugged his shoulders. "You called a spade a spade; I have to give you props for that."

Now Kyle was really confused, not only because Mark was actually being pretty cool about being yelled at in front of a group of people, but because they were having what could almost be considered a normal conversation after Kyle agonized about him beating the shit out of him for weeks.

"So...you're not going to kick my ass?" Kyle asked, bracing himself for Mark to come to his senses and knock him out.

Mark looked puzzled. "Huh? I'm not following you."

"You can't tell me you don't remember," Kyle said.

Mark just stared at him blankly. Kyle was starting to feel really stupid about how much thought he'd given all of this over the past month. He was about to tell him to forget about it when Mark's eyes lit up with recognition.

"Oh, my god, are you that Kyle? The one that liked my sister and...Jesus Christ, it is you!"

"Yeah...it's me," Kyle said, weakly. This was really not the response he was expecting.

"I am so sorry about kicking the shit out of you, dude. I totally lost my mind for awhile there," Mark said, sheepishly running his hand through his hair. "I'm just super protective of Rebecca, and....well, that's no excuse. Can you ever forgive me?"

"Uh, sure, yeah. Why not? I mean, if you can forgive me about going off on you today," Kyle grinned, still feeling like he was having an out of body experience.

Mark waved his hand, dismissing Kyle's words. "Like I said, I had that coming, but to be honest, that Malcolm kid drives me crazy. If tutoring didn't look good on college applications there's no way I would do it. I really don't have the patience for it."

Kyle nodded, knowingly. "Tell me about it. The kid I tutor is okay, but if I have to explain polynomials to him one more time I'm going to blow my head off."

Mark laughed and it lit up his eyes. For a moment, Kyle thought he felt a small flutter in his stomach but ignored it. He looked around, noticing for the first time that Rebecca wasn't with Mark, which seemed odd. They were always together.

Mark watched him closely. "What, were you looking for Rebecca? Don't tell me you still like her?"

Kyle's face flushed. "No, I just noticed that you guys are always together..."

"Have you been watching us or something?" Mark asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Well, no, not exactly," Kyle said, starting to feel uncomfortable. He must seem so fucking weird.

Mark looked at him closely, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. Then he seemed to brighten, his mood shifting quickly and his eyes widened, flashing. "Were you heading home? I don't want to keep you if you have something to do."

"Oh, no, I didn't have anything planned. I was just going to stop by 7-11 before going home." He thought for a moment and then asked, almost shyly, "did you want to go with me? I mean, I totally understand if you'd rather not but you're welcome if you'd like to come along. I could use the company, and...." He had to force himself to stop rambling and he was scandalized to feel a blush spreading across his cheeks.

"No, yeah, I'd like to go," Mark responded. "I don't really have any plans tonight. Rebecca went to visit our dad and my mom is working late, so I'm kind of on my own."

"Oh?" Kyle said, as they started walking along the sidewalk together, the streetlights flickering to life around them and throwing pools of light on the road. "Where does your dad live?"

"Grand Junction," Mark replied, a tad indifferently.

"Wow, that's kind of far away," Kyle remarked.

"Yeah, but Becky doesn't mind making the drive. I mean, she has to beg our mom and she only gets to go like once a month, but the drive doesn't seem to bother her."

"Wait, she drives herself?" Kyle asked. He was impressed; he only had his learner's permit.

"Yep, we're both 17," Mark responded. He didn't seem to think having his license and being older than most of the people in their grade as a very big deal. They walked in silence for awhile and Kyle wanted to ask why Mark wasn't visiting their father with Rebecca, but he didn't want to pry.

"So, you guys are twins," he said, feeling lame once the statement left his mouth. Of course they were twins; how else would they both be 17?

"Yeah, that's part of the reason why we're so close. We've always had each other, which really helped during our home-school years."

They had made their way to the 7-11 and were walking across the parking lot. Kyle saw Clyde, Tweek, and Craig hanging out by the entrance and he waved, but Mark didn't. He seemed to stiffen up as they got closer and he became quiet. Craig was sitting on the ice machine with Tweek standing between his legs, and they were passing a drink back and forth. Clyde was playing on his phone but he stood up when he saw Kyle and Mark walking over. He had been smoking a cigarette but he dropped it on the pavement and twisted it out with his foot.

"Hey, you guys," Kyle said. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Craig said, passing the drink back to Tweek. Kyle could smell the scent of weed emanating from them. Tweek waved hello but Clyde just stood there, glaring. Kyle suddenly remembered the exchange he saw between them back on the second day of school, and he felt uneasy.

"Well, see you guys around," he said, walking towards the automatic doors that opened noiselessly; cold fluorescent lighting spilled onto the pavement.

"Later," Craig responded. Tweek waved again and Clyde was still staring hatefully at Mark, who was returning the look in spades. Kyle cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Well, that was certainly uncomfortable," he said, once the doors had slid closed behind them. He was beginning to become unnerved by Mark's sullen silence. This was how he'd imagined him being as opposed to the friendly guy he'd appeared to be just five minutes ago.

"So, about that little tiff you had with Clyde a few weeks ago," he said as he filled up a cup with Cherry slurpee, "what was that about anyway?"

"Oh, you saw that?" Mark said, filling up his own cup with a mixture of coke & cherry. "That guy kept hitting on Becky and making her uncomfortable so I told him to back off."

"You're really protective of her," Kyle said, snapping a lid on his cup. He was debating whether to get nachos, too.

"Yeah, I have to be. No one else is going to look out for her so it's up to me to make sure she's okay," Mark said matter-of-factly.

"So, I take it she wasn't into Clyde?" Kyle asked as he decided that he would have some nachos after all.

Mark seemed taken aback by the question. "I'm not sure, actually. Not that it matters."

It was Kyle's turn to be taken aback, not really understanding Mark's logic. "I mean, if she liked him you wouldn't have any reason to tell him to leave her alone, right?"

Mark looked at him, still seeming perplexed. In the light of the store his eyes were still seemingly fathomless. Kyle was beginning to think they would actually be very striking if they weren't so strange and remote; like distant planets that had never seen the sun's light.

"Why would she be interested in someone like that, though? He's clearly not good enough for her," Mark said. "I'm pretty sure I did her a favor running that asshole off."

Kyle couldn't argue with him there, knowing Clyde's history as a player. "That's fair. Besides, he has an on again off again girlfriend he's always fighting with and you didn't want any part of that." They paid for their snacks and left the 7-11, Kyle was relieved to see that his friends were no longer hanging around out front. It was getting kind of chilly now and Kyle was glad that he'd decided to wear a hoody that morning. He checked his phone and saw that it was already 7.

"Hey, if you're not doing anything, did you want to come over? My mom has her book club tonight which is basically her drinking wine with her friends, and my dad will probably be working late. He's working on this really important case and he practically sleeps in his office he's working so much." Kyle offered, feeling bad that Mark seemed to be all by himself on a Friday night. He hadn't really seen him with anyone but his sister since school started so he doubted that he'd made any friends.

Mark seemed surprised by the invitation. "Yeah, but are you sure? I really don't want to put you out."

"It's seriously fine. I was just going to play video games and stuff anyway. I'm feeling a little burned out so I don't have the energy for anything else." Kyle finished the last of his slurpee and threw the cup in a trashcan in front of Harbucks. They were passing a row of shops now, about five minutes away from Kyle's house. Couples were strolling around hand in hand, and families were out shopping; their kids running around. Kyle was surprised that they didn't run into anymore of his friends but he was also kind of relieved, too. It was weird, he didn't really want to talk to anyone for the most part but spending time with Mark didn't feel taxing. He was actually enjoying walking along with him, making small talk.

They made it to Kyle's house where all of the windows were dark, giving it a lonely appearance. Walking up the front walkway, Kyle fished his key out of his pocket and Mark offered to hold his half-eaten container of nachos as he unlocked the door and pushed it open. He turned on a light, illuminating the living room. He threw his bag on the floor and slipped out of his shoes, Mark following suit, except he put his bag on a chair.

"Did you want anything to eat? I'm still hungry even after those nachos," Kyle said, walking towards the kitchen. Mark followed, still holding the nachos and his slurpee. He shook his head, placing both on the counter as they entered.

"Nah, I'm okay." He said, looking around. They had remodeled the kitchen a couple of years ago, and had decided on a modern aesthetic; Kyle's mother opting for stainless steel appliances and black cabinets. Kyle wasn't crazy about it but didn't give it much thought, it was just a kitchen, after all. He grabbed a bag of chips out of a cabinet and poured himself a glass of orange juice.

"Come on," he said, leading the way upstairs to his room. Like the kitchen, they had redone his room awhile ago, and now he had a TV and his playstation right there instead of down in the living room. His twin bed had been given to Ike and now he had a full, but he still had the same desk, covered with homework and books and odds and ends. Kyle flipped on his desk light and the standing lamp in the corner; he never used the overhead light because it was too bright.

He set down his drink and the chips and gestured to Mark. "Just sit anywhere," he instructed. He shrugged off his hoody and threw it on his bed. Seemingly encouraged by this action, Mark took off his coat and folded it carefully over Kyle's desk chair. He was wearing a simple maroon t shirt underneath, and Kyle noticed that while he was slim, his arms were actually pretty muscular. He looked away, feeling weird for noticing something like that.

"So, what do you want to play?" He asked, turning on the TV. He settled himself in a dogeared beanbag chair and grabbed the controller, the bag of chips open next to him.

Mark considered the question for a moment, seating himself in another beanbag chair. "I'm not picky, as long as you're not into Call of Duty or crap like that."

"No way. Right now I'm playing Resident Evil 4 for like the millionth time." Kyle flipped through the games he had saved, showing him.

"I love that game!" Mark said.

"Good, now I finally have someone to play with," Kyle said. "Stan hates horror games, so I always end up playing by myself." He started up the game and as he waited for it to load, he took a long drink of orange juice. "Are you sure you don't want anything to drink, at least?"

"No, thanks. I'm okay." Mark said. "Who's Stan again?"

The game finally loaded and Kyle started to play, maneuvering Leon through a forest filled with unseen horrors. "Stan? Oh, he's my...friend," he replied, feeling strange about referring to him as his boyfriend, though he couldn't say why. A pang of guilt struck him but he ignored it.

Mark watched him wander the forest, killing the infected as they popped up. "He's that tall guy, right? With the dark hair?"

"Yeah, that's him," Kyle said, fondly. He could imagine Stan now, hanging out in his room in his little twin bed, his laptop perched on his stomach. He'd probably be scrolling through facebook, waiting for Kyle to text or message him. Another pang of guilt coursed through him. Trying to ignore it, he groped for something to say when a thought occurred to him.

"Your mom is working pretty late, dude. What does she do, anyway?" He asked, shooting a zombie in the face.

"She's a surgeon. She's on call tonight at Hell's Pass," Mark said. Kyle perked up at this information.

"Really? A surgeon? That is so cool!"

Mark seemed rather nonplussed. "I guess," he replied. He leaned back in the beanbag chair. "She's always working, that's part of the reason my folks split up."

"Oh, that sucks," Kyle said, feeling uncomfortable for responding the way he had. He couldn't help being curious though, but he was afraid to ask more questions.

"She's a general surgeon, so she mainly works on hernias and appendixes and stuff like that," Mark said. Kyle hungrily absorbed this information, waiting for him to continue. When he didn't, an awkward silence descended on them.

Finally, he couldn't stand the tension. "Why would her working make your parents get a divorce?"

Mark glanced at him, seeming to formulate a response. "Well, she works really long hours and my dad didn't like that, plus she makes way more than him, and that really pissed him off."

Kyle turned his answer over in his mind, considering it. Mark continued to speak. "I mean, my dad is an actuary so he makes decent money, but he doesn't make nearly as much as my mom. Not to mention the fact that when my mom decided to start practicing again, she didn't have time to home school us anymore."

"Wait, I thought you guys started going to real school years ago," Kyle asked, confused.

Mark rolled his eyes. "My dad considered that but he couldn't deal with it. You see, he's all about control, so us being in regular school didn't work for him. After we moved away from South Park, we went back to being home schooled by our mom. My dad never had the patience to actually teach so he left it up to her, and he continued working to support us."

Kyle paused the game, trying to absorb all of this information. "So, what made her decide to go back to medicine? I mean, why would she if your dad was so...." he trailed off, not sure how to word the rest of his question.

"Domineering?" Mark supplied, smirking. "I don't know, honestly. I guess she got tired of living under his thumb and not being able to do what she'd trained so long for. My mom didn't get into medicine just for the money; she really cares about people, and it killed her not being able to work. Honestly, that's the part of her I've never been able to relate to."

"Caring about people?" Kyle asked.

Mark opened his mouth to answer when his phone started to ring. He pulled it out of his pocket and stood up. "It's Becky. I told her to call me as soon as she got to dad's. I have to take this." He swiped his finger across the screen and started to walk towards the door. "Becky?" He asked, as he stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. Kyle could hear him, his voice muffled as he moved away down the hallway. He pulled out his own phone, and saw that he'd missed 3 calls from Stan and several texts; he opened the most recent:

_dude, if you don't answer me, I'm going to come to your house to make sure you're okay. I'm seriously worried_

He groaned, and quickly texted Stan back:

_i'm fine, stop being so melodramatic. i just got preoccupied on the way home_

He thought a moment and then sent an additional text:

_i'm sorry for making you worry...I didn't mean to get all quiet._

He waited a few moments; a new text popped up, like he knew it would:

_it's okay. what do you mean you got preoccupied? What are you talking about?_

Now that was a loaded question, one that Kyle wasn't sure how to answer. He decided to just be as straight forward as possible:

_well, I have that Mark kid here with me. He's actually not that bad...you were right, i was just blowing things out of proportion._

Apprehension cropped up as he reread the text after he'd already sent it; it probably created more questions than answers. He waited nervously for Stan's response, which took longer this time.

_wait, Mark's there? You mean, at your house? Dude, what the hell is going on?_

Kyle sighed, knowing that it would take a lot of energy to explain this current development; energy he didn't necessarily have to offer. Still, he felt the need to offer an explanation to Stan; it's the least he could do after leaving him in the dark for the past several hours.

_Look, i'll call you after he leaves, okay? and then i'll explain everything. he's on the phone with his sister right now._

He frowned when he saw what Stan wrote back:

_how late is he staying? i don't think i feel really comfortable with all of this, Kyle. are you guys alone over there?_

Kyle was starting to get annoyed, offended by the way Stan was reacting. He was particularly irritated that he wrote out his name in his text; he couldn't have articulated why it bothered him, but it did. It was almost like an attack or something.

_Yeah, we're alone. You know my parents are usually out on Friday nights, and Ike is at a friend's house. Besides, what does that matter? And why would you be uncomfortable?_

Instead of texting him back, Stan called his phone. Kyle debated accepting the call, still feeling agitated, but finally decided to just talk to him. "Hello?" He tried to keep his voice friendly, but it was a challenge.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" Stan asked, making no effort to cover up his irritation. Kyle took a deep breath before he answered.

"Well, I had a talk with Mark and he's actually pretty cool. I mean, that was after I told him to go fuck himself during tutoring but that's another story. Anyway, he told me he was all alone tonight and I felt bad so I invited him over to play video games. That's it, so I don't know why you're reacting like this."

"Reacting like what?" Stan snapped.

"I don't know, like you're suspicious or something!"

He heard Stan sigh. "I'm not suspicious, I was just worried, okay? I didn't hear from you for hours and then out of the blue you're hanging out with Mark, who you've been obsessing over for weeks. How else am I supposed to respond to all of this?"

"That's fair," Kyle said, softly. He realized now that it wasn't fair to Stan to just shut him out without talking to him first. If he'd just told him that he needed space tonight he probably would've been fine with that.

"Besides, I miss you. I just wanted to talk to you," Stan was saying now, and Kyle really started to feel guilty. He groaned.

"Ugh, I'm sorry. I miss you, too. But, hey, now you don't have to hear me bitching about Mark for the rest of the year! That's a good thing, right?"

"I guess. This just seems really abrupt, though. I'm surprised that you're being so cool with him so quickly." Stan said.

"Well, honestly, I was really getting tired of focusing on this so I'm just glad that we can be cool, you know? He offered me the olive branch so I took it. Besides, he seems kind of lonely, maybe the rest of you guys can try to include him more?"

"Maybe," Stan said, sounding reluctant. Kyle heard Mark's voice outside of his door, still on the phone with his sister.

"Oh, hey, he's back. I guess he's about to hang up with his sister. I gotta go but I'll text you in the morning. I was hoping we could do something tomorrow."

"Okay, but call me if you need me. And just be careful, alright?" Stan sounded like he really didn't want to hang up. Kyle rolled his eyes; he was always so protective, like Kyle couldn't possibly take care of himself.

"Of course I will, Stan. Good night."

"Night, babe."

Kyle dropped the phone on his bed, feeling frustrated and restless. He wasn't sure why, but it was almost like he couldn't sit still with his thoughts after that conversation. He plopped down on the beanbag chair and waited for Mark. He could hear what he was saying more clearly now, and it sounded like Mark was angry.

"No, Becky, this is stupid! Why don't you just come home if he's going to treat you that way? This is ridiculous!"

Silence fell as Mark listened. Kyle listened too, feeling bad for eavesdropping but not being able to help himself.

"I'm like two seconds away from just driving over there and bringing you home." He said, but he didn't sound as angry as before; now he just seemed kind of tired.

It got quiet again, and Kyle realized he was holding his breath.

"Fine, fine. Have it your way. Just lock all the doors and be careful, okay? I swear to god, if I were there..." he trailed off, listening again. "Okay, get some sleep. Call me in the morning as soon as you wake up. I love you. Okay, okay. Bye."

Hurriedly, Kyle restarted the game and acted like he'd been playing the whole time instead of hearing every word. Mark stepped into the room, his face a little red and his eyes very dark. He glanced at Kyle, embarrassed.

"I'm guessing you heard all of that."

"Er, well, bits and pieces," Kyle said.

Mark sat down on Kyle's bed and buried his face in his hands. When he looked up, he just sighed. "I seriously need to get high right now," he said, abruptly.

"Wait, what?" Kyle said, startled. That was the last thing he expected to hear from him. He just stared at him.

"Yep, I'm talking seriously high. Like, I don't even want to be able to think straight. What do you think?"

"I, uh, well. No, seriously, what?"

Mark reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of joints. Kyle's eyes widened in shock. "What, you don't smoke?"

"Do I look like I smoke?" Kyle asked.

Mark shrugged. "I mean, if you don't know how, that's cool. I can show you." He stood up and grabbed his coat. Sliding it on he checked in the pocket and pulled out a lighter. "Awesome, I was afraid I forgot to bring this. Hey, do you have anything to drink?"

"Well, sure. We have orange juice, water, soda-"

Mark waved his answers away impatiently. "No, no. Do you have any liquor? Hell, I'll even take a beer."

"Uh, I think my mom has some wine." Kyle said, starting to feel uneasy. This Mark guy was seriously not what he seemed.

"I guess that'll have to do. Pour yourself a glass too." He stepped over to the door and opened it, waiting for Kyle to leave first. Kyle stood up slowly and grabbed his hoody, not really sure how the evening had come to this point.

Down in the kitchen he grabbed a bottle of wine from his mom's stash in the cabinet, being careful to grab one in the back. He still wasn't entirely comfortable with what Mark wanted to do so he tried to find an excuse.

"My parents are going to be home before too long, man. They'd kill me if they caught me, you know," he gestured to the joints Mark had while holding up the wine bottle.

"That's cool, you can just come over to my place. It's totally empty." Mark replied smoothly. "Come on, it's a decent night. It'll be nice to go for a walk anyway."

Kyle didn't move, and Mark finally noticed his hesitation. "Are you okay?"

"I'm just not sure if this is a good idea," Kyle said, feeling stupid and childish.

For a moment, a look of irritation seemed to flit across Mark's face but it was gone as quickly as it came. He smiled. "Has anyone ever told you that you really need to relax?"

Kyle flushed. He'd been told dozens of times that he was too uptight and needed to loosen up. In fact, Stan had told him just the other day that he needed to relax about the Mark situation. "Well, yeah, but still -"

"So, come on. Let's go. You'll like it, I promise." Mark said, herding him towards the door. Feeling overwhelmed, he allowed himself to be kind of pushed along.

Maybe I do need to relax, he thought. I mean, it's just weed...what's the big deal? It's even legal these days. The phone conversation he'd had with Stan passed through his mind and the feeling of restlessness returned. Suddenly getting high with Mark seemed like an okay idea after all. Stepping outside, the night air was clear and chilly, its scent resplendent with the pine trees in the distance.

"Where do you live?" Kyle asked, as they turned onto the sidewalk.

"My mom moved us into her childhood home, that's why we moved back here when she dropped my dad," Mark replied. "It's just beyond Starks Pond."

"Whoa, where those giant houses are?" Kyle asked, impressed.

"Yeah, my grandfather was a doctor too, so they had a lot of money. He left the house to mom in his will, but my dad would never agree to live there. He didn't really get along with my mom's family."

"It doesn't sound like he gets along with anyone," Kyle said.

"Tell me about it. I really can't understand why Becky insists on going to visit him. She should've just told that cocksucker to fuck off the way I did," Mark said, sounding bitter.

Well, that explains why he didn't go with her, Kyle thought. Now he was really interested to know what that phone call was about. He still wasn't sure how to broach the subject though. They left Kyle's neighborhood and made their way towards, Starks Pond, passing through the downtown area and some of the businesses there. There was still a crowd of people around the movie theater even though it was getting pretty late at this point. At least it was late as far as Kyle was concerned. He checked his phone and saw that it was almost 9. They were smart to leave when they did, his mom would've been home by 10 at the latest, stumbling through the door tipsy and ready to go to bed. Kyle tucked the wine bottle inside of his hoody as an afterthought; weed may be legal but the drinking age hadn't changed.

Mark noticed the gesture and elbowed Kyle lightly. "You're pretty uptight, aren't you?"

"No, I just don't want to get busted for underage drinking. Do you?" Kyle replied, annoyed.

"I'm pretty sure nobody cares what we're doing. Everyone's too focused on themselves."

"You know, everybody says that but I call bullshit. It seems like everyone is always sticking their nose where it doesn't belong. I mean, just look at tabloids. There's literally an entire industry designed to pry into other people's lives."

Mark laughed. "Like I said, you're way too uptight. But, you do have a point. I just don't think anyone really cares about what we're doing right now."

Stan probably would, Kyle thought, feeling a little guilty.

They were passing through the woods surrounding the pond now, and Kyle could see the water in the distance; the moon reflecting off its surface. Night winds rustled the long grasses on the shore and created tiny ripples in the water. They broke from the trees and headed along the path circling the water, and Kyle could see large houses in the distance. There weren't very many, as they each seemed to sit on huge plots of land; they were really more like manors. It made him think of Token's house, but it seemed like Mark's home was going to be even larger. He was beginning to feel a little intimidated.

They left the pond and Mark turned onto a long, curving drive; a mailbox enclosed in bricks at its entrance. A tall gate centered in a brick wall stood before them, comprised of black metal swirls and curlicues. Golden lights on either side of the gate glowed warmly, cutting through the darkness. Mark punched a code into a keypad situated in the wall, and the gate slowly started opening. They passed through it and started making their way up the driveway, with large, dark trees flanking the path on either side. They walked for what felt like miles before finally coming up a circular drive, and there, resting like a sleeping dragon in the darkness was Mark's home. Even though Kyle knew it was going to be large he was still amazed at its size; his house could've fit inside of it 3 or 4 times, with room to spare.

"Well, there it is," Mark said. He waved a hand indifferently. "It's pretty standard, all things considered. There's a pool and tennis courts in the back. We also have stables but we don't have any horses right now." He unlocked the front door, which was painted a deep forest green, with ornate door handles and knockers; the latter shaped like lion's heads. The door opened into a massive foyer, with an impressive staircase leading to the second floor, where it split into two, leading off in opposite directions. On the cold marble floor a plush oriental rug in bold jewel tones lay. Kyle took off his shoes, not wanting to track mud across it.

"Come on, let's grab some glasses from the kitchen. You can take that wine out of your hoody now," Mark said, smirking. Kyle just shot him a dirty look but pulled the wine out anyway.

Dim lighting illuminated the house as they passed through it, so Mark didn't bother to turn on any lights. He explained that the lights were activated by movement and would shut off by themselves. In the kitchen, which Kyle could only describe as cavernous, Mark grabbed some wine glasses and a bottle opener. He gestured to the fridge, which had a screen on the front like a smart phone, and raised his eyebrows at Kyle. "You want anything?"

Kyle just shook his head, trying to take in the opulence surrounding him. Now he felt kind of dumb having Mark over at his house; it paled in every conceivable way when compared to this place. He glanced at the wine bottle and noticed a '2 for $7.00' sticker on the label; he discreetly tried to peel it off.

"Let's go sit by the pool," Mark said. He led the way out of the house onto a giant porch with steps leading down to the pool, a hot tub nestled away on a raised platform nearby. The steps cut through a layered garden, each level surrounded by rocks and filled with flowers and spiky bushes; trailing ivy dripping over the side. The rocks extended down to the edge of the pool, where a waterfall cascaded into the water, making the water ripple and froth. Tables and chairs made of blonde wood sat along the pool's perimeter. As they descended the steps, Kyle could see acres of green lawn stretching away towards the horizon.

Mark sat in a chair heavily and put the bottle opener on the table. "You do the honors," he said, setting down the wine glasses as well. "What kind of wine did you get anyway?"

Kyle sat down and glanced at the bottle. "Uh, it's a merlot," he said. He hadn't really done very much drinking at all; the night he got plastered with Stan at Stark's Pond on cheap beer notwithstanding. The memory brought a feeling of longing with it but he tried to ignore it. "I haven't really had a lot of wine," he continued, deciding that honesty was the best policy in this situation. "Is it good?"

"It's pretty sweet and kind of fruity, depending on the kind," Mark said. "I don't know if I would describe it as good only because I'm really not much of a wine drinker. People get pretty intense about that stuff but I'm not drinking it for the taste, honestly." He shrugged and pulled the joints out of his pocket, along with the lighter. Kyle was about to use the corkscrew when he noticed the wine didn't have a cork; it was just a twist off bottle. Mark snickered.

"I can tell this is going to be one high class glass of wine." He lit the joint, its tip glowing orange. Taking a deep drag, he leaned back and held his breath for a moment; after a few seconds he exhaled slowly, a cloud of smoke drifting into the sky. He coughed a little, covering his mouth with his hand. Meanwhile, Kyle had opened the wine and poured two glasses, taking care to put a little bit less in his own. He pushed a glass towards Mark who took it and drained half of it in one gulp. Kyle could only watch in amazement.

"It's not bad," he remarked, offering the joint to Kyle. "The weed and the wine respectively," he added, smiling. "Your turn, man."

"Well, okay, I guess I can give it a try," Kyle said, taking it with a shaky hand.

"It's really easy," Mark said, soothingly. "Just take a drag and hold it in your lungs for a little bit, and then slowly let it out. I don't recommend taking a super long hit the first time you do it, though."

Kyle hesitantly brought the joint to his lips, the smell of it filling his nostrils. His lips closed on the tip of it and he inhaled, feeling the acrid smoke filling his mouth. Against his will, he started coughing like crazy. Hazily, he could hear Mark laughing.

"Oh, my god, dude, I told you not to inhale that much!" He was laughing so hard he was doubled over. "Take a drink of your wine, that'll help!"

Kyle couldn't stop coughing and his throat felt like it was on fire; his eyes were watering so much it was hard to see. He groped for his wine glass and took a drink, the flavor of the wine almost making him gag. That made Mark crack up too. He got up and sat in the chair next to Kyle, rubbing his back gently. He had already finished his wine and was taking another long drag. Like an expert, he exhaled the smoke while Kyle continued to cough. Pouring himself another glass of wine, he continued to rub Kyle's back.

Finally, his coughing fit subsided, and Kyle leaned back in his chair, his throat aching and his eyes stinging. Mark was watching him closely, his face a mixture of amused concern. "Do you want to try again?" He asked, innocently.

Kyle wanted to say no but he didn't, not wanting to look like a complete loser. He tentatively took the joint from Mark and brought it to his lips again, feeling apprehensive. This time he made sure to take a very small drag, but he was only able to hold the smoke in his lungs for a split second. He exhaled much more quickly than Mark but was relieved that he only needed to cough a little this time. His throat was still burning pretty badly, though. To sooth it, he took a small sip of the wine, trying to get used to its flavor. It seemed kind of sweet, but it was coupled with a bitterness that Kyle had a hard time wading through. He managed to finish the glass, but not without difficulty.

"See? You're already getting better. Good job," Mark said. He finished off his second glass of wine and poured himself a little more, making sure to refill Kyle's glass too even though he hadn't indicated that he wanted more. In fact, Kyle's head was already starting to spin but he wasn't sure if it was from the wine or the weed. Mark didn't seem like he felt any differently but Kyle couldn't be sure. He looked up into the night sky where the stars seemed to be swimming in tides of black and blue, but he couldn't keep them from skipping around. Rubbing his eyes, he looked again, but the stars were white marbles skittering around, jumping in and out of formation; constellations collapsing. The moon stayed where it was supposed to but its color seemed to shift from a soft pearly color to a blinding white that hurt his eyes. He looked away and saw that Mark was watching him closely.

"Here," he said, putting the joint in Kyle's hand. All he could do was stare at it stupidly. "This is the part where you smoke it," he instructed. Mark guided Kyle's hand towards his mouth, his lips parting to accept the cigarette. Dimly, he took a slightly bigger inhale than the last time and was surprised that he was able to hold it in for a little bit longer this time. Exhaling, he watched the smoke drift up towards the stars, who were still misbehaving and refusing to stay put. He took another drink of wine, still not enjoying its taste but at least getting used to it.

"I feel kind of hot," he said, his voice sounding far away to him and a little muffled.

"Well, take off your hoody then," Mark replied. His voice sounded really far away too, and super deep. "I mean, we're all friends here, right?" He started to giggle which suddenly struck Kyle as being the funniest sound he'd ever heard. He started laughing too as he went to stand up, fumbling with the zipper of his hoody clumsily. He almost stumbled when he stood up but managed to catch himself, which just made him laugh more. Sliding his hoody off, he threw it on a chair, enjoying the feeling of the chilly air sliding across his skin, which suddenly felt so warm. His face was starting to feel warm too, the heat settling in his cheeks. He sat back down and pressed his hands against his face, hoping that his hands were cool enough to provide some relief. They weren't.

Mark was finishing off the weed in one long drag as Kyle drained the last of the wine in his glass. His face was starting to become unbearably hot so he decided to take off his hat, hoping that the wind blowing through his hair would help to cool him off.

"I didn't know you had red hair," Mark commented.

"How is that possible? I haven't worn my hat at school for weeks." Kyle said, fighting back laughter.

Mark shrugged. "I guess I just don't pay very much attention to most people," he replied nonchalantly. He looked at Kyle almost like he was appraising him. "It's actually really pretty."

Normally, Kyle would feel really weird having someone other than Stan commenting on his hair but at the moment it just seemed hilarious. He busted out laughing, almost feeling like he couldn't control himself. With the alcohol coursing through his blood and the weed making him dizzy and loose, everything just felt funny and not to be taken seriously. It was actually incredibly liberating. He reached out and grabbed Mark's arm, surprising him.

"Dude, why did I wait so long to do this?" He asked.

"Do what? Take your hat off?" Mark asked, drinking more wine.

"No, dude, smoke weed?"

"I have no idea but it sure seemed to help you loosen up," Mark replied. He picked up the wine bottle and frowned when he saw that it was empty. "We need more wine," he said, sounding very serious like this was a huge problem.

"I want pancakes," Kyle said, suddenly feeling ravenous. The 7-11 nachos and slurpee seemed like a lifetime ago.

Mark considered this for a moment then nodded. "Yes, pancakes actually sound perfect. Let's go."

They managed to make their way back up the stairs and up to the porch, stumbling and grabbing onto each other to steady themselves, laughing hysterically the whole way. In the kitchen, Mark found the ingredients for pancakes and put a frying pan on the stove, turning it on to begin heating up. He also pulled another bottle of wine out of a fridge underneath the counter. Having forgotten the corkscrew and glasses by the pool, he just produced more, commenting that they had multiple corkscrews and about a million wine glasses at their disposal. Kyle just sat on a stool and watched, everything feeling too bright and moving too fast.

Mark peered at the label on the bottle. "Looks like we're going to have chardonnay this time. How does that grab you?"

Kyle shrugged. "I'm fine with it. Just hurry with those pancakes, I'm starving."

"Just be patient and I will make the finest pancakes Aunt Jemima has to offer," Mark responded. "Wait, where did I put the spatula?" He looked around.

"Uh, I think it's under that towel," Kyle said, pointing at the counter. It was weird seeing Mark being forgetful; he was usually so poised and sure of everything. He drank some of the chardonnay and watched Mark move around the kitchen, his eyes trailing over his back. He'd taken off his coat so he was in his t shirt and jeans. Kyle noticed that he had a long torso like Stan's, but he was a little bit thinner. He found himself staring at his arms and spacing out, enjoying the way the muscles flexed under his skin as he started cooking.

Time seemed to jump forward and suddenly Mark was putting a plate in front of him, piled high with pancakes. He plunked a bottle of maple syrup down too. He poured more wine in both of their glasses and sat down next to Kyle. He poured copious amounts of syrup over his own plate of pancakes and handed the bottle to Kyle. "Here you go, dig in," he said, and Kyle noticed that his eyes were intensely dark now, nearly black, but the whites of his eyes were red.

Kyle tore his eyes away from Mark's face and squirted syrup on his pancakes, which was quickly absorbed. He took a big bite and groaned.

"These are seriously the best pancakes, no the best thing, I've ever tasted in my whole entire life," he said, taking another bite. Pretty soon, his plate was clean and he was dipping a finger in the leftover syrup, bringing it to his lips and almost dissolving because of how sweet and perfect it tasted.

"You want more?" Mark asked, looking over. His plate was empty too.

"God, yes. Please." Kyle said, handing him his plate. Mark filled both plates again and set them on the table.

"Hey, let's put chocolate chips and whipped cream on them this time. What do you think?" Mark asked, excitedly.

Kyle nodded enthusiastically. Mark grabbed a bag from a cabinet and a can of whipped cream from the fridge and handed them to Kyle. Kyle tore into the bag of chocolate chips, making them spray out all over the counter. They both started giggling while picking up the strays and popping them into their mouths. He poured chocolate chips on top of his pancakes and then offered the bag to Mark who did the same. Shaking up the can of whipped cream, he squirted a huge mound on top of his pancakes and then squirted a little into his mouth. He offered to do the same for Mark, who opened his mouth widely. He closed his eyes, savoring the taste while Kyle put some on his pancakes too.

They both destroyed their food in a matter of minutes, washing down the residual sweetness with drinks of chardonnay. Kyle pushed himself away from the table feeling immensely satisfied. A thought occurred to him.

"Are you sure your mom won't be coming home soon?" He asked.

Mark snorted. "She won't be back until tomorrow morning at the earliest. I wasn't kidding when I said she works a lot."

"Well, okay." Another thought suddenly struck Kyle and he sat straight up. "Shit, my parents don't know I'm over here! They're going to kill me!"

Mark put his hand on Kyle's shoulder to steady him. "Relax, dude. Just text them and tell them you're spending the night at my house. It's not a big deal."

"That's a good idea," Kyle agreed, slurring his words. He got off the stool clumsily and headed for the door. "I left my phone in my hoody, I have to go get it."

Leaving the kitchen in disarray, they headed back down the stairs where Kyle grabbed his phone. It felt like it took him a million years to formulate a simple text to his mom and he sighed with relief when he finally sent it. Mark had lit up the other joint while waiting for him to finish and he handed it to him after he set his phone down.

"I don't know if I should," Kyle said, his voice sounding thick. "I already feel really dizzy." It was true; his head continued to spin even when he closed his eyes.

"Oh, come on," Mark slurred, "just one more time. Live a little."

"Well, okay," Kyle said, his head swimming with the booze and the weed. Not only that, he felt like he was high on the chilled night air and glimpses of Mark's sinewy arms and the stars hopscotching their way across the sky. He shook his head a little to clear it but that just made him feel more disoriented. He took a drag on the joint, closing his eyes as he inhaled more deeply than before, the smoke burning through him, and slowly he exhaled. Opening his eyes, he watched the smoke curl away like icy breath and scatter on the breeze. He leaned back in his chair as far as he could go and for a moment he was afraid that he was going to fall, but not on the ground; rather, he was afraid that if he let go of the chair he would float away and become lost among the shimmering, playful stars, so far away.

He blinked and when he opened his eyes again, Mark had stood up and walked to the edge of the pool. He grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it off over his head, revealing a lean, pale torso. He wasn't as defined as Stan but Kyle still admired how lithe he was. His breath caught in his throat and he willed himself to look away, feeling guilty.

"Are you coming in?" Mark called, pulling Kyle's focus away from his shameful thoughts. He was unzipping his jeans and sliding them off, revealing dark blue boxers.

"Won't it be cold?" Kyle asked, stalling for time.

"It's heated," Mark replied. He threw his clothes over on the grass and looked at Kyle expectantly.

Kyle stood wordlessly and walked slowly to the pool, Mark watching him advance. He saw him smirk and then he jumped in, his body breaking the surface of the water like a knife being thrown; creating a very small splash. When he surfaced, he shook his dark hair out of his face and looked up at Kyle, who was still standing at the edge, fully clothed.

"I'm waiting," he laughed.

Kyle could feel him watching as he peeled his shirt off and pulled his jeans down, stepping out of them carefully. He kicked them away and walked towards the stairs leading into the pool. He didn't feel brave enough to just jump in, he didn't care if it was heated or not. Mark swam over to the stairs, waiting. Kyle put one foot in the water, surprised at how warm it was, and then put the other foot in. Gingerly, he walked down the stairs until the water came up to his waist, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. A slight shiver ran through him.

"I didn't realize you were so thin," Mark said, startling him. He looked down at himself and dropped down into the water all the way, feeling self conscious.

"I'm not that thin," he said, defensively. Stan was always telling him how scrawny he was but he said it affectionately so it didn't really bother him. With Mark it was hard to tell whether he meant it as a compliment or an insult. It also made him uneasy how Mark could comment on his body so casually.

"No, I think it's cute," Mark said, paddling towards him. Kyle backed away, still feeling weird, not to mention stoned and disoriented.

"Where are you going? It was a compliment." Mark continued to follow him towards the deep end. Pretty soon it got too deep for Kyle to walk so he started awkwardly doing the backstroke. He made it to the end of the pool and gripped the edge, trying to orient himself. He glanced over his shoulder and Mark was very close, still drifting towards him. For some reason, his heart started thudding in his chest. He wasn't sure why but he felt like he needed to say something, and quickly.

"So, uh, what was that phone call with your sister about, anyway?" He asked.

Mark stopped and began to tread water, the mirth evaporating from his face. It was amazing how quickly his face could become cold and hard after being in such a good mood. Kyle immediately regretted asking the question.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry. Just forget that I asked, okay?"

Mark ignored him, opting instead to swim over next to Kyle where he pulled himself out of the pool. He sat on the edge with his legs dangling in the water, leaning back on his hands. Kyle peered up at him, not sure what to do.

"If you really want to know, my sister is spending the night by herself instead of with my dad because that son of a bitch had a date," he said, his voice quiet but filled with anger. "She drove over four hours to see that pile of shit but he couldn't cancel a date to actually be there."

"Dude, that's terrible," Kyle said. Now he really regretted asking about the phone call; Mark sounded livid.

"And instead of coming home to at least be here with me she decided to stay there and wait for him, like an idiot," he continued to seethe. "Like a dog waits for their master to come home. The whole thing makes me sick."

"I don't blame you," Kyle murmured. He wasn't sure what else he could say.

Mark stood up and went over to the table to grab the joint. He sat back down with his legs in the water and took a drag. He coughed a little and tried to hand it to Kyle who shook his head. He frowned and then shrugged, finishing it off instead.

He sighed. "You want to head upstairs? I'm getting kind of tired, we could watch a movie or something."

"Sure," Kyle said, hoping that his bad mood would shift as quickly as his good one had. He swam to the ladder and climbed out of the pool, the cold air hitting his skin and making him cringe. He went to grab his clothes, very aware that Mark was watching every move he made.

They gathered up their stuff and headed to the house. When they walked into the kitchen Kyle saw the mess they left behind and he glanced at Mark. "We should clean this up before we go to bed, don't you think?"

Mark looked around the room, his face impassive. "Leave it. The housekeeper can get it in the morning. It's her job." His expression softened when he saw the way Kyle was looking at him. "Besides, I'm an early riser. I can take care of most of it before she even gets here."

Upstairs, in Mark's room, Kyle marveled at the size of it, and of his massive bed taking up almost an entire wall. There were bookshelves covered in books and a giant aquarium bubbling quietly in the corner, colorful fish flitting through the lit-up water. French doors covered in gauzy curtains led out onto a balcony, and another set of doors led to a private bath. Kyle suddenly became acutely aware that he was still in his wet boxers and nothing else, and he shivered in the chill of the room.

"Did you want to take a shower?" Mark asked. He had a towel and was drying his hair. He was also just in his boxers but he made no attempt to cover up; he seemed completely comfortable standing there half naked with Kyle in his room.

"Yeah, that sounds nice," He said, feeling shy all of a sudden.

"It's right through there," Mark said, pointing. His dark hair fell into his eyes and he brushed it away. "I'll probably take one too so don't take too long, okay?" He smiled, and Kyle noticed one of his canines was unusually sharp. It made him look kind of feral.

"Sure, right. Um, is there anyway I can borrow something to wear?"

Mark looked at him, considering his request. A blush spread across Kyle's cheeks and he couldn't have said why. "Yeah, I'll grab you something. Just head in there and I'll leave it on the counter, okay?"

"Oh, okay. Thanks." He headed towards the bathroom, which was decorated in shades of gold and brown. A claw foot tub sat in repose next to a glassed-in shower with multiple faucets jutting from the walls. A double vanity ran the length of a long mirror, where Kyle could see himself standing there, still shivering in his boxers. Under the subdued lighting he looked pale, and he could see why Mark called him thin; he almost looked frail, his clavicle standing out plainly. A memory stirred from earlier in the day, how he looked at himself in much the same way in the bathroom at school; and now here he was, standing in Mark's bathroom of all places. It was amazing how quickly the tides could shift. He turned away when he took off his boxers, having seen enough of his reflection. He turned on the water in the shower and when he saw that it was warm enough to create steam, he stepped into it.

Kyle tried to keep it short even though the water felt amazing, chasing away the cold and a slight ache in his muscles. This day felt like it was going on for decades, and he was completely ready to drop into bed and just pass out. He thought back to what Mark had told him about his father, and how angry he'd become. He seemed to be in a better mood now, and he hoped it stayed that way so they could just go to sleep. It was rather disconcerting how quickly Mark could flit from mood to mood, but Kyle attributed that to his selfish father and having to deal with the fallout. Anyone in his position would be moody, right? He sighed and turned off the water, wrapping himself in a towel and going to find the clothes that Mark promised him.

A pair of boxers and a t shirt were on the counter, just as Mark said they would be, and he put them on. The boxers were a little loose but comfortable, and he was swimming in the shirt, but glad to have it. He dried his hair a little more and as it dried it became wavy, tiny water droplets falling onto his shoulders. Mark was reading, stretched out on his bed when he came into the room. He looked up, smiling.

"Those clothes okay? They seem a little big."

He looked down. "Just a bit, but thanks."

Mark gestured to the TV. "Watch whatever you want, I'll just be a minute." He headed into the bathroom, not bothering to shut the door. Kyle heard the water start up a moment later. He flipped on the TV, but couldn't really find anything he wanted to watch. Instead, he walked out onto the balcony, through the filmy curtains that blew back when he opened the door. A telescope sat there, as if waiting for him. He looked through it, but cloud cover had rolled in so it was hard to make out anything. The view from the balcony was amazing on its own without aid of a telescope; it looked out upon the pool and the lawns, with Starks Pond and the town of South Park beyond. It was almost like Mark lived in a castle that overlooked its kingdom.

He wandered back into the room where he found Mark waiting, holding a bottle of water. "Hey, did you want a Xanax? I usually take one before bed; it helps me drop off."

"No, I'm okay. I still feel really loopy from the wine and stuff," Kyle declined.

"Gotcha, that makes sense." He shook the bottle of water. "I got you something to drink at any rate. I don't know about you but wine always dries my mouth out."

"Oh, thanks," Kyle said, thankfully. He took the water and drank deeply.

"Let's watch something and go to sleep," Mark said, climbing onto the bed. Kyle climbed in after him, sinking into the softest mattress he'd ever felt. He almost sighed it felt so comfortable. He could sleep for a year.

*****

During the night, Kyle had strange and disjointed dreams; dreams that appeared in flashes of color like a series of blurry photographs. One moment, it felt like he was being weighed down by something and the next he thought he felt wind on his face. Every now and then he seemed to open his eyes in the dream and he could see Mark, his dark hair falling over his forehead and his weird color-changing eyes; one second they were green, the next they were a dark brown, almost black. Then they would turn colors that human eyes could never be: magenta, bright orange, cerulean; he could see the night sky in them with stars pulsing, and then they would shift and become what he could only presume was a reflection of hell, with fires blazing and a deep blackness that went on forever.

Kyle would try to move his body but it felt like he had sleep paralysis, so all he could do was watch the photographs flash by; a TV playing a movie, and then a bedside lamp, lit and casting shadows on the walls. He felt pain in his body vaguely, a slight ache behind his temples and a throb in his neck. He felt himself turning onto his side, the paralysis temporarily lifted but it still didn't feel like he had control of his body. He had experienced this before, but never for this long. At one point he was floating near the ceiling and looking down at himself, lost among mountains of blankets and a shadowy form blocking his view.

He tried to open his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He was sinking into the mattress now, and he saw bright lights flashing. Kyle pleaded with himself to wake up, just wake up, and stop these vivid dreams but they wore on, and he could do nothing but surrender. The only screams he could produce were inside of his head.


	4. Chapter 4

**I wanna just dance but he took me home instead**  
**Uh oh! There was a monster in my bed**  
**We french kissed on a subway train**  
**He tore my clothes right off**  
**He ate my heart and then he ate my brain**

**-Lady Gaga - "Monster"**

*********

Kyle woke in the morning with a vicious headache and a horrible case of dry mouth, with heavy limbs and a cloudy mind. The room was gray and murky from storms that had moved in overnight, and rain pelted against the windows. He looked over and saw that Mark was gone, evidently being truthful about being an early riser. Checking the clock, Kyle saw that it was a little after 9 am. He tried to sit up but his body felt so heavy, like every limb was weighted down with rocks. Whimpering, he managed to shift into a sitting position, his legs hanging over the side of the bed, but he didn't have the strength to stand up.

He rubbed his temples, trying to ease the ache pulsing there, and recalled the dreams; the strange, vivid dreams. They receded as his mind reached for them, trying to recall them in detail, but they started to fade leaving him frustrated. There were pains in his arms and legs that he could only attribute to sleeping in the wrong position and in a strange place.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Mark said, coming into the room. He looked bright and cheerful, not pensive and stormy like he had last night while talking about his father. He was carrying a tumbler of orange juice that he handed to Kyle. "I've been down to clean up the kitchen so the housekeeper doesn't walk into chaos. How are you feeling? You look pretty rough, man."

Kyle gratefully sipped the juice and nodded. "Yeah, I feel really weird, actually. I had these really bizarre dreams last night; the weed and alcohol really messed with my head, I guess."

"Well, we did polish off like two bottles of wine between us and you're definitely an amateur when it comes to weed so that makes sense," Mark replied.

"Are you even hung over? You seem perfectly fine," Kyle asked, feeling a little jealous.

"Nah, not really. I mean, I have a slight headache but it wasn't anything Excedrin couldn't handle. Would you like some?"

"Sure, that'd be great. Where are they?"

"In the bathroom but don't worry about that, I'll go grab them for you. You just stay put." Mark said, starting to turn away.

"No, I can get them myself," Kyle protested, not liking the feeling of being so weak or making Mark go to extra trouble for him. He went to stand up and managed to make it to his feet, but then his knees seemed to crumple beneath him and he was falling forward; luckily, Mark was there to catch him and hold him up, his strong hands gripping him under his arms. Feeling woozy and humiliated, Kyle looked up into Mark's face, and for a moment he was taken aback by how handsome he looked, his strange eyes narrowed with concern and his full lips looking so soft....

Blushing, Kyle tried to push away from him but Mark held him tightly, almost hugging him now. "Hey, hold on and let me help you back into bed, Kyle. I don't want you to fall again."

"No, I can, uh, I can manage. Please, let me go," Kyle said, feeling ashamed and embarrassed. He felt so stupid and like he was making a complete fool of himself. He was pretty sure Mark would never want to hang out with him again and the idea really bothered him, though he wouldn't have been able to articulate why. He gripped handfuls of Mark's t shirt in his hands, clinging to him but wanting him to let go, even if he fell flat on his face.

"You're being ridiculous, now just relax, okay? Come on," Mark spoke like he was trying to calm down a startled animal, his voice soft and placating. He eased Kyle back into the bed, where he collapsed, his energy spent. Faint stirrings of nausea were coursing through him now, and he looked at Mark almost desperately.

"I don't feel right," he said. "Is this what a hangover feels like? I thought I had one before, when I drank a bunch of beer with Stan, but this feels different."

Mark studied him, his eyes filled with compassion, or pity? Kyle couldn't be certain. "I just think the combination of booze and weed hit you pretty hard. It also doesn't sound like you slept very well so that isn't helping your situation." He thought a moment. "You seemed really restless last night, now that I think of it."

"It was those dreams," Kyle said. "They were awful." He blushed, remembering something suddenly. "I think you were in them, too."

"Oh, was I?" Mark asked, smirking. "Well, I'm pretty sure you're gonna have to tell me all about that but first, you need to take some Excedrin and eat something, too. What do you think you can stomach?"

The very thought of food made Kyle's stomach lurch, and he reached out a hand to steady himself on the bed. "I don't think I can," he said. "Not yet."

"Okay, but I want you to finish that juice at least, and I'll get you some water," Mark said. He went to the bathroom and brought back a green bottle, opening it, he deposited two pills in Kyle's hand. From a mini fridge across the room he grabbed a bottle of water and placed it on the nightstand. Kyle took the pills with a sip of juice, praying for quick relief. He glanced around.

"Thanks for the water, but I didn't finish the bottle you gave me last night. Where'd it go?"

"Oh, that? I finished it after you passed out last night." He chuckled. "Dude, you were out like a light."

"It was a long day," Kyle sighed, leaning back against the pillows.

Mark sat at the foot of the bed, watching Kyle closely. A mischievous look crossed his face. "So, about those dreams you had..."

Kyle's face burned hotly and he had to look away. A shrill melody split the silent room suddenly, making him start; Mark looked over at Kyle's pile of clothes on his desk chair.

"My phone," Kyle said, the familiar ring tone continuing to play.

For a moment, it seemed like Mark wasn't going to get it, but he finally stood and strode over to Kyle's hoody, where the phone was still in the pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the screen, he smirked and held it up for Kyle to see: it was Stan. Without thinking, Kyle went to stand up, reaching out a hand towards his phone.

"Stay put," Mark said, bringing the phone over to him, "I don't need you almost wiping out again. Here." Pressing the phone into his hand, he headed for the door. "I'm going to go downstairs and get you some tea and dry toast; you know, sick people food." In the doorway he glanced back at Kyle. "Say hi to Stan for me." He smiled and was gone.

Kyle took a deep breath and answered. "Hello?"

"Are you okay?"

Kyle sighed. Stan was worrying again.

"Yes, of course I am. Do you just think I'm helpless or something?"

"No, but I thought you were going to call me so we could hang out today." Stan said.

"Well, you at least have to give me a chance to wake up and collect myself, Stan," Kyle said, laughing. "Besides, I'm not feeling so great this morning."

"Why, what's wrong?"

Kyle inhaled deeply, not sure how to respond.

"Kyle?" Stan said, impatiently.

"Well, I'm actually over at Mark's, and we kind of drank a shit ton of wine last night." He said, cringing as the words left his mouth.

"What? You're over at Mark's right now?" Stan asked.

"Yeah, and we smoked some weed, too."

Stan was silent for a moment. Kyle waited with baited breath, not sure why he felt guilty. It's not like anything happened.

He heard Stan let out a long breath. "So, you're hungover? Is that it?"

"Well, yeah, basically. You know what a lightweight I am."

"Why did you get drunk and high with Mark?"

Kyle leaned back against the pillows and looked out the windows, at the rain falling in sheets and the trees dripping. He tried to come up with an answer even though he wasn't really sure why he did what he did. There was the feeling of restlessness and the pressure that he had heaped on his own shoulders, not to mention the tension of worrying about Mark and blowing things out of proportion, which he had always been really good at doing. "I guess I just didn't want to think for awhile," he finally said. "I feel like I'm stuck in my own head sometimes, and I just wanted to relax. It wasn't my finest hour but it felt fun at the time."

"I guess that makes sense. You seemed really happy the night we stole those beers and went out to the pond, remember? You didn't seem as tense as you normally do." Stan responded.

Kyle smiled at the memory. "It wasn't just the beer that made me feel happy that night," he said. "I think there was a little bit more to it than getting drunk, don't you?"

"I'd like to think so," Stan said, and Kyle could hear the smile in his voice. "So, do you think you'll feel well enough to go out in a little bit?" He asked.

A wave of nausea passed over Kyle but he ignored it. "Yeah, definitely. I just have to muster up the energy."

"Well, don't push yourself too hard. I don't want you to be miserable just because I want to see you."

"I want to see you too. Just let me pull myself together, okay? I'll call you when I'm on my way over." Kyle turned over on his side, and wrapped his arm around a pillow. A splinter of a dream from the night before flashed through his mind unbidden; a hand locked around a wrist, but it was impossible to tell whose it could be, if it even belonged to anyone real. Then he saw an underwater room, green and gray, and a weightlessness that drifted him upwards. Kyle curled in on himself, wanting to forget even though he had wanted to remember before.

"Kyle are you still there?" Stan was asking, his voice faint because the phone had dropped from his ear onto the pillow. He picked it up.

"Yes, I'm here. I'm going to try and get up now. I'll call you in a little while." He said softly.

"Okay, babe. I'll be here."

Kyle ended the call, and laid the phone aside. He hugged the pillow to his chest, wishing it were Stan.

"Everything okay?"

Kyle looked over his shoulder to see Mark standing there holding a tray with a teacup and a plate of toast on it.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He sat up and Mark placed the tray over his legs. "You really didn't have to do all this," he said, feeling awkward about being served breakfast in bed by Mark of all people. Picking up a spoon, he stirred the tea to help it cool; fragrant steam wafting under his nose. The nausea abated slightly.

"It's really no big deal. After all, you did me a favor last night." Mark said, pulling his desk chair over to the side of the bed. He sat down to watch Kyle attempt to choke down his breakfast.

Kyle sipped the tea slowly but still managed to burn his lips. "I did?" He asked, rubbing his arm across his mouth.

"Yeah, you let me bitch and moan about my father and my sister and you kept me company. You even let me get you super wasted even though you clearly can't handle your alcohol."

Kyle nibbled his toast. "I tried at least."

"That you did, and I thank you." He looked over at Kyle's phone. "So, what did Stan want?"

"Oh, just to talk," he said vaguely.

"Just to talk," Mark repeated. "Well, he's a good friend, isn't he?"

"That's putting it mildly," Kyle said, casting his eyes downward and smiling. "He's actually my best friend."

"I can see why, if he calls you up first thing on a Saturday morning just to talk," Mark said. His eyes were very dark again, and Kyle could see amusement in them, but another inscrutable emotion was there, too.

"I should probably go soon," Kyle said, finishing his tea. He managed to finish one piece of toast but he didn't have the appetite for another. "I think the Excedrin is kicking in and that tea really helped."

Mark seemed surprised by this statement. "Are you sure? You don't want to rest for awhile longer in case you start feeling sick again?"

Kyle shook his head. "No, I think I'll be okay. Besides, Stan is waiting for me and I don't want him to think that I'm not coming or something's wrong. He tends to worry." He rolled his eyes.

"Right, of course," Mark responded, and that veiled emotion was there in his eyes again, but only for a moment. "Well, when you're ready I can drive you over to his house. I don't think you'll make it if you try to walk."

"No, you don't have to do that. I promise I'm fine," Kyle protested, waving his hands.

"It's fine, Kyle," He said, his tone a little clipped. He smiled. "Just let me know when you're ready to go."

 

******

"Did you seriously spend last night getting high and drinking with Mark?" Stan asked again, incredulously.

"Yes, dude, I already told you like 10 times. I even told you about the pancakes and the pool." Kyle was curled up next to Stan in his bed, the covers thrown across them. He folded a leg over one of Stan's, so they were intertwined.

"It just doesn't make any sense," Stan said, idly twisting a lock of Kyle's hair around his finger.

"I know. I was there and I'm still having a hard time believing it."

"So, what, are you guys friends now?"

Kyle shrugged one shoulder. "I guess so. He seems kind of lonely, you know? And he's actually pretty fun to hang out with, even though I really couldn't keep up with him."

"What do you mean?"

"The guy drinks like a fish, I couldn't believe it. And he smokes weed like he's been doing it all his life, and after all of that, he still took a Xanax before we went to bed."

Stan frowned. "You didn't take anything like that, did you?"

"No way. You know I don't want to mess around with pills, even if they're legal." He toyed with one of the buttons on Stan's shirt, managing to make it come undone.

"I never would've figured the home school kid was such a rebel," Stan remarked. "Who would've thought?"

"Right? And I couldn't believe how cool he was about me blowing up at him during tutoring," Kyle said. "I really misjudged him."

"Well, you do have a tendency to jump the gun."

"Sometimes, I guess," Kyle conceded.

"So, what are we going to do today?" Stan asked. He put his hand over Kyle's, which was in the process of undoing another button.

"This," Kyle said, gesturing at the bed. "I just want to stay here with you, alone. I don't have the energy to do anything else anyway."

"No energy, huh? We'll have to remedy that somehow," Stan said, bringing Kyle's hand to his lips and kissing the knuckles. "Why are you so tired anyway?"

"I guess it's the hangover, but it feels different from others I've had before. Not that I've had a lot," he admitted. "I don't think I'll be mixing alcohol and marijuana together again anytime soon, you wouldn't believe the dreams I had last night."

"Nightmares?"

"Not exactly. It was just bits and pieces, like a music video that someone edited the crap out of; just rapid fire images. Have you ever had sleep paralysis? I felt like something was sitting on my chest, and no matter what I did I couldn't move."

"That sounds awful."

"I seriously woke up feeling like I'd been hit by a truck. I ache all over."

"Well, turn over and I'll give you a massage. Would you like that?"

"Stan, I would fucking love that." He turned over with his arms folded under his chin. Stan sat up and slid his hands under Kyle's t shirt, rubbing the sore muscles in circular strokes.

Kyle felt like he could dissolve under those hands, and he closed his eyes. Before too long he had fallen asleep, but this time it was pure darkness, with no dreams; his mind the night sky bereft of stars.

*****

The rest of the weekend passed smoothly even though it took Kyle awhile to start feeling like himself again. There was residual weakness and achiness in his body that carried over into Sunday but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle, but he made a promise to himself that he wouldn't be drinking or smoking again anytime soon. He was also a little disturbed that he couldn't really recall anything after climbing into bed with Mark Friday night. He chalked it up to basically passing out from all the crap he'd ingested, but it was still weird for his mind to essentially blank out after closing his eyes.

His Friday night dreams kept coming back to him in small bursts, but they continued to lack substance or meaning. The time he had spent with Stan on Saturday helped to sooth away the dreams and fatigue but it hadn't really produced any answers, which he supposed was just as well. The whole encounter with Mark left him feeling pensive and he spent Sunday bumming around the house, with the rains continuing to fall outside. If they didn't stop soon Kyle was pretty sure that the whole town was just going to float away.

He ran a bath for himself late Sunday evening, wanting to be alone with his thoughts and to prepare for the week ahead. He remembered Mark's old-fashioned claw foot tub and the decadence of his bathroom and was actually glad to be in a simpler place, away from the opulence. Mark was almost like a prince trapped in his castle, all alone in that gigantic, empty house. True, it was beautiful, but it seemed so lonely and quiet. No wonder he ranted about his sister and his father when he had so much time to sit in silence with his thoughts. Kyle took off his clothes and slid into the water, sighing and laying back to stare at the ceiling.

I wonder what he's doing right now? He thought. And I wonder why he was so nice to me, even after what I said?

A deeper, more closed off part of his mind also wondered why Kyle kept remembering little flashes of Mark, not of the things he said, but the parts of him that Kyle had to admit he admired to some degree. He lay there in the water and thought of color-shifting eyes and strong arms, and against his will he found himself comparing Mark to Stan. Stan's eyes were a pale blue, reliably clear and friendly, but also direct, and while Mark had a kind of lean strength to his build, Stan was a little bit bigger, with bulkier muscles from years of football.

Idly, Kyle reached up to grab a washcloth, but stopped when he saw his pale arm in the light of the bathroom. He'd been wearing a sweater the entire day so he hadn't really noticed anything out of the ordinary, but now that he was naked the dark bruises encircling his wrist became prominent. He lifted his other arm out of the water, and saw bruises around that wrist as well, they weren't as dark but they were undeniably there. Morbid curiosity made him look down at himself, at his thighs, and there were bruises there too. They hadn't been there yesterday, he was pretty sure, although he hadn't really been looking for them either.

Standing up, the water sluicing down his body, he stepped out of the tub to go and study himself in the mirror, which was slightly fogged from the steam emanating from the bath. There were marks on his shoulders and when he turned around, there were bruises on his back too, all along his rib cage. They were all in various stages of violet and blue; some still faint but others already dark; almost angry looking.

"What the hell?" He whispered. "No wonder I feel like I was hit by a train...where the fuck did these come from?"

He tried to think, to remember, but his mind was infuriatingly blank. He didn't do anything out of the ordinary with Stan the day before, just cuddling and taking it easy because he felt so tired and out of it. Maybe he woke up Friday night to use the bathroom at Mark's house and he fell? But that wouldn't explain the positioning of the bruises, would it? He was disturbed to notice that some of them were shaped like fingerprints. He went back to the tub to finish washing quickly, no longer wanting to be alone.

When Kyle was back in his room and dressed, he picked up his phone to call Stan. After turning it on, he saw that he had received a text notification, but it was from a number he didn't recognize. Puzzled, he opened it:

_hey, just checking in to make sure you're okay._

He stared at the screen, trying to figure out who could've sent it. It couldn't have been Stan, he'd had the same number for years and he would've just told Kyle he was the one texting him instead of leaving him to guess. Other than him, the only other person that had any reason to see if he was feeling okay was-

"Mark," He said to the empty room. Who else could it be? He hadn't spoken to any of his other friends the whole weekend.

 _But I didn't give him my number,_ he thought. _Or did I and I just don't remember?_

Kyle was beginning to feel angry and not just confused. Why couldn't he remember anything? If that's what alcohol and weed did to your memory, tore it full of holes and left you feeling helpless and lost, he'd never touch any of that bullshit ever again. He glanced at his phone, reading the text again, and felt some of the rage dissipate, but only slightly. It was really very kind of Mark to ask him how he was feeling, especially since Kyle had been fully in control of all the wine he drank and all the weed he sucked into his lungs. He tapped out a reply, trying to choose his words carefully.

_I'm okay, I guess. Is this Mark?_

While waiting for a response, he sent another text to Stan, telling him about the bruises.

_I look like someone beat the shit out of me, dude. You should see my back and my legs._

By the time he'd finished sending the message to Stan, a response was waiting from the unknown number.

_Yeah, sorry. I should've told you who I was in the first text._

Kyle smiled.

_It's okay, I just didn't remember giving you my number._

He thought a moment, hesitating, and then finally he added:

_Thanks for checking in on me. I appreciate it._

Mark texted back almost immediately.

_No problem. Yeah, you gave me your number late Friday night, right before you basically passed out._

Kyle frowned. Maybe Mark could shed some light on why he looked like he'd been mugged.

_Um, I know this is a weird question, but did I get up to go to the bathroom that night and like, fall down a flight of stairs or something?_

He hoped injecting some weak levity into the question would make it seem less bizarre. He waited for a response anxiously but this time Mark wasn't as quick. Finally, he replied.

_I'm not sure what you mean?_

Kyle sighed.

_I mean, I looked in the mirror today and I'm covered in bruises and I honestly have no idea where they came from._

Mark took even longer to respond this time, no doubt taken aback by Kyle's question and weird subsequent explanation.

_Ohhhh, now I get it. I don't know if it was the weed or booze or whatever but you started freaking out in the middle of the night. I had to hold you down because you were thrashing around...you even fell on the floor at one point._

Kyle could only stare at his phone in shock. While he tried to digest this bit of information, Mark sent him another text:

_I meant to say something about it before but then I thought maybe you might have night terrors or something so I didn't want to make a big deal out of it. You scared the shit out of me, dude._

He couldn't think of what to say to that. Night terrors? No, he'd never experienced night terrors a day in his life. At least, he didn't think he had. His parents would have told him about them if he did, right? No, it had to have been a side effect of intoxication.

 _But the dreams?_ He thought, suddenly. Kyle hadn't really considered them nightmares or terrors at the time, but they had frightened and confused him. Were they enough to cause such a strong reaction? Enough to make him have such a physical response that he needed to be restrained? Flashes and pieces broke through a wall in his brain, that underwater room, floating  & suspended, the feeling of powerlessness, and eyes with spiders pouring out of them; thick and black and crawling all over his body, everywhere. He shuddered.

Even though Kyle was the one who brought up the subject he didn't think that he could stomach talking about it anymore. He wrote his next text carefully, wanting it to seem like he was taking this new information in stride.

_I'm sorry that I put you in that situation...I promise I'm not always this much trouble, lol._

Crawling into bed, Kyle waited for Mark to say something so he could put his phone aside and just go to bed. It was already after 11 and he didn't want to be awake and thinking anymore. He was disappointed that Stan hadn't texted him back but he was probably already asleep. Within a few minutes, Mark had responded, and Kyle was relived that he was letting the matter drop.

_it's okay, Kyle. i promise that i'm not a raging alcoholic burnout, lol. Most of the time anyway. did you need a ride to school tomorrow, btw? I don't mind picking you up._

Kyle grinned stupidly at the unexpected offer but declined, telling Mark that he already had plans to meet Stan at Harbucks so they could get a coffee before walking to school together. As an afterthought, he asked if Mark wanted to join them.

_Oh, right, Stan. I should've figured, lol. That's okay, I don't want to butt in on your plans. I'll just see you in homeroom, okay?_

Kyle couldn't help feeling a little disappointed at the refusal but didn't dwell on it. Instead, he told Mark good night and that he'd see him the next day, which Mark responded to in kind. Setting the alarm on his phone for the next morning, he placed it on the nightstand and shut off the light. Even though he felt exhausted, sleep was a long time coming that night, his brain refusing to let him settle because he feared what was waiting in his dreams.

******

Kyle did dream that night, but it was a dream he'd had many times; one that he'd gotten used to, even if it made him uneasy. He dreamed that his teeth were falling out, one by one, and the ones that didn't fall out got longer and longer when he pulled on them, jutting from his mouth like jagged bones. He looked in the mirror and when he opened his mouth as wide as it would go, he saw that there were teeth growing in the roof of his mouth and down inside of his throat; molars and incisors making sharp points in the pink tissue.

Walking to Harbucks that morning, Kyle pushed thoughts of the dream out of his mind and tried to focus on his plans for that day. There was going to be a test in pre-calc but he wasn't too worried about it, and they were working on outlines for their essays in English which he actually looked forward to because he was working with Stan, who was honestly the better writer between the two of them; he was clever when it came to putting his thoughts into words. Kyle was too impatient and tended to rush through essays, so his writing would become disorganized unless he had Stan as his editor.

Inside the Harbucks, Kyle found Stan at their usual spot, his coffee waiting for him on the table. Kenny was there too, but Cartman was absent, most likely still in bed. Kyle sat beside Stan and gratefully took a sip of his latte while listening to them talk about football practice that afternoon.

"Coach isn't going to get off of our asses until we manage to beat North Park, dude," Stan said, taking a bite of a bagel.

"Well, he can kiss my ass, honestly," Kenny replied, sitting back in his chair. "I'm so over his tyrannical bullshit."

"You're just saying that because he made you run laps last week."

"I'm saying that because he's a fucking asshole."

"Yeah, because he ran your ass for the whole practice," Stan laughed.

"You're playing North Park this Friday, right?" Kyle asked, not being able to contribute much to the conversation. He didn't mind going to the games to support Stan but he wasn't into football nearly as much as his friends. Usually he hung out in the last row of the bleachers and did some reading during the games.

"Yeah, and we're going to get killed," Stan said.

"I doubt that. You guys destroyed them last year," Kyle responded, reaching over and taking a piece of Stan's bagel.

"During the regular season, dude, but then they obliterated us during the playoffs," Kenny said, sneering.

"Hmm," Kyle replied, his mind already drifting away from this conversation.

"Hey, I'm sorry I didn't respond to your texts last night," Stan said. "I fell asleep super early."

"Oh, it's okay," Kyle replied, waving a hand.

"Where do you think the bruises came from?"

Kyle felt uncomfortable answering that question with Kenny present. In fact, it kind of irritated him that Stan brought it up in front of him, even though he had no reason to think it was a private affair. Still, this wasn't really the time to talk about it as far as he was concerned.

"I don't know," he said. "Besides, it's not a big deal. I was just being dramatic."

"Not a big deal? You said you were covered in bruises; how is that being dramatic?" Stan asked.

"Wait, what's going on?" Kenny asked, leaning forward.

Now Kyle was really starting to feel uncomfortable. "I, uh, had a rough weekend," he muttered.

"And by rough he means that he had a pretty bad hangover," Stan explained to Kenny, who smirked at this bit of information. Kyle's irritation was turning into anger at Stan's insensitivity.

"It sounds like we had the same weekend," Kenny said. "With all that rain we had I was stuck in the house for two fucking days; I crushed a bottle of my dad's Grey Goose. Way to go, Kyle. We can be hangover brothers." He stretched out a fist in solidarity, but Kyle refused to fist bump him under the circumstances.

"I'm not proud of the fact that I became inebriated," he said, dismissively.

"That isn't even the best part," Stan said, as Kenny mimicked Kyle's holier than thou posturing. "Guess who he smoked with?"

"Stan," Kyle said, sharply.

"What, you mean weed?" Kenny asked.

"Yeah, man. He got totally wasted with -"

Kyle pushed himself away from the table abruptly and started walking out of the restaurant, leaving his coffee behind. He could hear Stan calling out to him but he ignored it, pushing through the front doors and out into the cold morning air. He was halfway to school by the time Stan caught up to him, with Kenny nowhere in sight.

"Kyle, wait!" He said, reaching out to grab his arm. Kyle pulled away from him and kept walking.

"Stop! What's wrong with you?" Stan ran in front of him to block his way. Kyle just walked around, refusing to look at him.

"Just leave me alone for awhile, Stan," he said. "I'll see you later."

Kyle continued to school by himself, feeling upset but confused too. A small part of him was sad when he didn't see Stan waiting at his locker to talk to him, but he brushed it off and went to homeroom. He needed time to think.

*****

"What are you listening to?"

Kyle pulled his headphones out of his ears and looked up to see Mark standing there, pulling his backpack off and sitting down next to him. He'd decided to sit somewhere else that morning, not wanting to deal with Kenny who was casting him questioning looks from their usual places across the room.

"Oh, just something that helps me relax," Kyle responded, turning off his music and setting his phone aside. He had the habit of listening to the same two or three songs on repeat when he was feeling contemplative; a trait that Stan liked to kid him about but he said was also kind of cute. They called it Kyle's bathtub mix because that's where he retreated when he was in a mood.

Mark seemed to be in good spirits, commenting that Rebecca came home early Sunday after their father blew her off on Saturday night as well.

"I don't think she'll be going over there for awhile," Mark said, looking satisfied.

"Well, that's good, I guess. It just sucks that your dad could be so selfish," Kyle said.

"Yeah, but he'll never change so there's no point in dwelling on it, right?" Mark glanced at him. "Are you feeling okay?"

Kyle leaned his face on his hand and looked down at his desk. "Not really. I kind of want to go home and go back to bed. I don't know how I'm going to make it through the day, especially since I was stupid and volunteered to help with this blood drive after school."

"Oh, the one the Red Cross is hosting in the Wall-Mart parking lot?" Mark asked.

"Yeah," Kyle said, surprised. "How did you know about it?"

Mark rolled his eyes. "My mom. She asked if I would help out as a personal favor to her. She likes to constantly remind me that one donation can-"

"Save up to three lives," Kyle finished, smiling.

"So, I'll see you there?" Mark asked.

"I guess so."

"Are you going to donate?"

"Nah, I'm AB+ so my blood doesn't really go very far. I'd donate platelets but I'm not old enough." Kyle responded.

"You have the most selfish blood type," Mark said.

"Not where my plasma is concerned," Kyle replied, smiling.

"Why are you volunteering?" Mark asked. "Are you just a Good Samaritan or something?"

"Hardly. I need the exposure."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I want to be a doctor so I'm trying to get as much experience in the medical industry as possible."

"Well, that explains why you're so interested in my mother's work," Mark said.

"It's fascinating."

"I suppose."

"What, you don't think so?" Kyle asked, surprised.

He shrugged. "I don't really have much of an opinion, I guess. Her work has always just been a part of who she is, even when she wasn't practicing. It was always just in the background. Rounds and hospitals and patients calling her day and night...they don't really have any meaning to me anymore."

He looked at him.

"Are you sure you're not just interested in the glamorous part of being a doctor?"

"I think I just want to do something that might help people." Kyle responded, looking at his hands, a little hurt by that question.

"That's very noble," Mark responded. "But to be honest, I'd probably just do it for the money."

"But you already have plenty of money," Kyle said. "Why do you need more?"

Mark scoffed. "That isn't my money, Kyle. That's my parent's...well, not my dad's, of course. He's lucky if he clears six figures a year. No, I can't act like the money my family has belongs to me. It doesn't count unless I've earned it."

Kyle couldn't argue with that. "Well, money is great, but that's not what my motivation is."

"You remind me of my mom. Speaking of which, if you're so dead set on this career path I could talk to her about maybe helping you out, if you wanted."

"That'd be great! Would you really do that for me?"

"Of course. We're friends, aren't we?" He smiled warmly.

Kyle looked away, feeling embarrassed but grateful. "I don't know if I would think of being a doctor as a glamorous profession, by the way."

"Okay, maybe not glamorous, but don't think for a second that there aren't doctors that don't get off on the power that goes along with the job; the prestige. Believe me, I've met a lot of my mom's colleagues and some of them have major God complexes." He thought for a moment. "I guess it makes sense that sociopaths are so drawn to the medical field."

"Sociopaths?" Kyle asked.

"Well, think about it. You're less likely to get emotionally involved with your patients so you're less afraid to make the tough decisions that will end up benefiting them more in the long run. And you won't agonize over losing patients either because it's just an inevitable part of the job; it just comes with the territory."

Kyle hadn't really thought about that. "That makes sense. Although I don't think I'd be comfortable being taken care of by a sociopath, even if they are good at their job. I mean, what's to stop them from just killing someone because they don't care?"

"That'd be stupid, Kyle. Why would they kill someone unless it could be beneficial to them in the long run? They're way more focused on getting ahead than just mindlessly killing people that don't matter." He thought a moment. "Unless they're angels of death who just get off on being in control of people's lives."

"You know a disturbing amount of information on this subject," Kyle commented.

The bell rang, and Kyle stood up and pulled his bag onto his shoulder. He looked over at Kenny who was alternating between looking at him and then glancing at Mark. Kyle turned away, falling into step beside Mark as they walked out into the hallway. They had made it only partway to their next class when Kyle felt a hand on his shoulder; he turned to see Stan.

"I need to talk to you," he said.

"Stan, I have to get to class." He didn't feel like talking right now, at least not about anything Stan would want to talk about. He was also still pissed that he was blabbing all of his business to Kenny like it was a big joke; especially after he told him about the bruises. They had honestly scared the hell out of him and he didn't really feel like Stan was taking him seriously.

"Please, Kyle. I'm sorry if I did something to upset you. At least give me a chance to know what I did wrong." His eyes were beseeching. Kyle noticed that Stan was also throwing furtive glances at Mark too, like he didn't understand why he was standing there waiting for Kyle.

"Fine, we can talk during lunch, okay?" He relented. "But we both seriously need to move or we're going to be late."

"I don't care about being late, Kyle. I just want to make sure we're okay." Stan said, stubbornly refusing to move. Mark just stood by, watching the melodrama unfold with a passive expression. Kyle began to feel overly warm from the crush of people in the hallway and feeling like he was being watched because of the scene Stan was making.

"Look, I promise we're fine. Can we please just talk about this at lunch?" Kyle pleaded.

Stan nodded, his face somber. He looked at Mark who raised his eyebrows and smiled.

"I'll meet you by your locker, okay?" He said.

"Okay, now hurry and get to class." Kyle turned away and hurried down the hall, with Mark trailing behind. He looked back once and saw that Stan was still standing there, his face sad.

****

The morning passed quickly to Kyle's relief. Being cool with Mark was actually pretty beneficial when it came to his classes, and Wendy was eager to invite him into their little study circle so they could all help each other out. By the time lunch rolled around, Kyle was ready to just get over himself and make up with Stan, conceding to the fact that he was probably being overly sensitive and Stan wasn't intentionally trying to hurt his feelings. They met up at Kyle's locker and after grabbing something to eat, they headed outside to sit under their favorite tree.

"I'm sorry I was being so emotional this morning," Kyle said, twisting the cap off a bottle of water. "I guess I was still just feeling weird after this weekend."

"Well, I shouldn't have put all of your business out there in front of Kenny," Stan replied. He bumped Kyle's shoulder. "Although, I'm not sure why you'd be bothered about Kenny knowing. He gets drunk and high all the time, I'm pretty sure he's not going to judge you."

"I know, I just felt dumb. When Kenny gets wasted he doesn't make an ass of himself."

"Oh, yes, he does. Remember when we all went camping and he drank that Jack Daniels? He tried to go skinny dipping in the middle of the night and got caught in the current and we didn't find him until the next morning, butt naked in somebody else's campsite like half a mile away?"

Kyle laughed. "Oh, my god, I forgot about that. Dude, he almost got arrested for public nudity."

"Yeah, so stop thinking that you're the only one who acts a fool after they've had a few. Besides, you didn't even do anything remotely embarrassing so I'm not sure why you feel this way."

Kyle looked away and saw Mark coming out into the courtyard with Rebecca to sit at their usual table. Rebecca's hair was up in a bun and she was wearing a white sweater with dark jeans. Mark was wearing the smile he reserved only for her, but he looked away for a moment to wave to Kyle. He waved back but Stan didn't; rather, he just stared at Mark with a frown.

"Mark told me I started freaking out in the middle of the night," Kyle said. He was about to take a bite of an apple but put it back down, not really having an appetite.

"You freaked out? What does that mean?"

"I mean, he didn't go into excessive detail but he said that i was acting like I had night terrors or something." He paused, not really wanting to tell him the rest because it made him feel weird.

"Dude, we've known each other since we were babies and I've never seen you have a night terror," Stan said, one eyebrow raised. "And we've spent the night at each other's houses tons of times."

Kyle shrugged. "Maybe it was being intoxicated or whatever but he said that he had to..." he trailed off, looking over at Mark and Rebecca again. They were laughing about something; Rebecca's hand resting on Mark's arm.

Stan shifted into his line of sight. "He had to what?"

"He said he had to restrain me because I was thrashing around. Those were his exact words." He looked down, feeling ashamed.

Stan cleared his throat, seemingly trying to process what Kyle was telling him. Kyle looked up at him, and saw that Stan's attention was focused on Mark, his eyes narrowed.

"Let me see some of these bruises you told me about," he said, suddenly.

Kyle looked at him quizzically for a moment, surprised by this abrupt request but pushed up one of his sleeves anyway, bringing the bruises circling his wrist into view. Stan's eyes widened. Reaching out, he took hold of Kyle's other arm and rolled up that sleeve too, revealing the bruises around that wrist as well.

"And there are more, right?" He asked, quietly.

"Yes, on my legs and my back," Kyle replied.

"So, he told you that these bruises came from him restraining you because of nightmares or terrors or whatever?"

"He said he wasn't sure what was making me act like that so it was just conjecture on his part. I'm thinking it was just from all of the alcohol and weed. I've never had that much to drink before and I've never smoked in my life."

"And you're sure that you didn't take anything else, right?" Stan asked.

"Yes, I already told you that."

Stan just looked at him silently, his brow furrowed.

"What?" Kyle finally asked when he couldn't take the silence anymore.

"Kyle, what really happened that night?"

"Huh? I already told you what happened."

"Yeah, but something isn't adding up here. I mean, I can believe that Mark made these bruises but I'm not buying the rest of the story. Something just feels off. So, if something else happened and you're having a hard time telling me, here's your chance to just, you know, get it off your chest."

Kyle just stared at him like he was losing his mind. "Stan, what are you implying right now?"

"I don't know, Kyle. I'm just imagining different scenarios for what could've happened Friday night and some are easier to stomach than others, even though they're all awful. I just need you to tell me the truth."

Something clicked in Kyle's brain suddenly, and he had to restrain himself from slapping Stan across the face. "You think I did something with Mark, don't you?"

Stan at least had the good sense to look sheepish after being asked that question, but he nodded anyway. What he said next made the color drain out of Kyle's world and left him hanging in a void devoid of sound or sunlight. "It's either that or Mark slipped you something and, well..."

He gave Kyle a stricken look instead of finishing his thought.

Kyle shook his head, feeling like he was drowning. "No, no. That did not happen. Neither of those things happened. You're being fucking crazy right now."

Stan reached out to take Kyle's hand but he slapped him away, repulsed. "No, you don't get to touch me after saying awful shit like that. How the fuck did you even jump to those conclusions anyway?"

Stan shrugged helplessly. "I mean, you said you can't remember anything after going to sleep and now you have these bruises. Not to mention, Mark's flimsy excuse as to how they even got there."

Kyle stood up, afraid he was going to be sick. "So, it's either I was drugged and violated," he paused, hating the sound of those words coming out of his mouth, "or I willingly cheated on you with Mark? Those are my only two options here?"

Stan had gotten to his feet by this point and was trying to calm him down. "I don't know what I'm saying right now, Kyle, okay? I just see these marks on you and you seemed so out of it this weekend and you have no memory of anything after a certain point. I'm just worried about you and it terrifies me that something may have happened to you." He sounded like he was going to start crying.

Kyle wrapped his arms around himself, almost like he was attempting to shield himself from this whole ugly conversation. "If you were really worried about my well-being you wouldn't be accusing me of cheating on you in the same breath as the rest of that disgusting bullshit."

"Honestly, if I had to make a choice between the two I'd rather you cheated on me, Kyle. At least that's something I could live with a little bit more easily. The thought of someone making it so you couldn't fight back so they could take advantage of you...I can't even begin to imagine living with that knowledge." Kyle noticed that Stan's hands were clenched into fists at his sides. "And if Mark seriously did that to you I'm going to fucking murder him."

"That's touching," Kyle said, sarcastically. "Nothing like that happened. I didn't sleep with him willingly or unwillingly, okay? Don't you think I'd realize if," he faltered over his next words, "if I'd done something like that with him? Nothing feels different. I don't feel different. I had a bad reaction to the stuff I did and I freaked the fuck out. End of story."

Stan just looked at him sadly and it made Kyle want to cry. He couldn't possibly accept that what Stan said was true. He refused. And he also couldn't stomach the fact that Stan could ever think he was capable of cheating on him. Just the idea broke his heart, this idea that Stan even thought he was capable of that. It tore at his insides and burned like acid in his veins.

And then there was the other possibility that Kyle was afraid to even contemplate. What if the dreams weren't dreams? What if they were memories mixed with hallucinations? The eyes, the hand around his wrist instead of a strangers, floating upwards in the gloom, and that horrible overwhelming feeling of being completely helpless? He willed the thoughts away because they were too much to process.

"I have to get the hell out of here," Kyle said. "I can't be here right now."

"What? But, Kyle, what about the rest of your classes?" Stan said, coming toward him. Kyle put out a hand to keep him away

"Fuck school. I'm going home and I'm going to bed."

"I'm coming with you then," Stan said.

Kyle shook his head. "No, I want to be alone. Just give me some time to think, please."

For the first time in his life, Kyle cut school and managed to wander home in what felt like a dazed fog of confusion and disbelief. His mother was in the living room when he got there, busying herself with chores and completely shocked to see Kyle home in the middle of a school day. When Kyle explained to her how he wasn't feeling well and that he'd been throwing up all morning, she quickly bundled him off to bed, chastising him only briefly about not telling anyone before leaving the school. She remedied that with a quick phone call, and then checked in on Kyle to see if he needed anything.

"No, mom. I just want to go to sleep for awhile," Kyle said, looking lost amidst the quilts and pillows his mom had piled around him.

She'd kissed his forehead tenderly, just like when he was a little boy and told him to call for her if he needed anything. She'd drawn the curtains against the sunshine and closed the door softly, leaving Kyle with his thoughts. In the dimness, he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling for hours until his eyes started buzzing with lights that resembled fireflies, lost in his head.


	5. Chapter 5

**Lying here in the darkness**   
**I hear the sirens wail**   
**Somebody going to emergency**   
**Somebody's going to jail**   
**If you find somebody to love in this world**   
**You better hang on tooth and nail**   
**The wolf is always at the door**

**\- Don Henley, "New York Minute"**

**********

The next couple of days were very difficult for Kyle while he attempted to process his thoughts and work through the emotions that seemed to be slamming him in the face constantly. He'd never been told that grief could hollow a person out until they weren't the same, how the power of it was like having his guts wrenched out and twisted into something unrecognizable and then put back in the wrong order. His whole being seemed like it was out of focus and try as he might he couldn't put the pieces of himself back into a likeness he could tolerate. In fact, even though he wanted to be completely alone, he couldn't stand to be with himself.

He tried distracting himself by reading and doing schoolwork but he couldn't concentrate. He refused to answer his phone or look at his texts; social media was out of the question and he didn't leave his room to eat dinner with his family. Kyle sequestered himself in his room and drowned out the outside world as much as he could, but bits and pieces of it continued to leak in against his will. His mom and dad tried to get him to talk but he refused, telling them that he didn't feel well and to just leave him alone; that he'd come to them when he was ready.

His appetite alternated between being nonexistent and ravenous. There were some days that he would go without eating at all, and then by the time night fell he would find himself sneaking into the kitchen after everyone else was asleep to raid the fridge and cupboards. He'd sit on the floor in front of the open fridge, bathed in its light, while stuffing anything he could find into his mouth: jelly straight from the jar, cold, salty pickles, slices of cheese and whatever was leftover from dinner; anything was fair game. He'd eat until his stomach ached with fullness but even then he wouldn't stop, and on a couple of occasions he'd eaten so much that he threw up when he made it back upstairs.

The same applied to bathing; he'd go without showering for days and then all of a sudden he would have to take a bath that very moment, usually in the middle of the night and then he'd sit in the tub long after the water had turned cold, so he'd be left shivering and shriveled like an oversized raisin. He seemed to be operating in extremes with very little middle ground, he could either do something but only in excess, or not at all.

The only thing that seemed to hold his attention at all were music videos, so he found himself constantly on YouTube watching the same ones over and over. He wasn't sure if it was the music or the images or both that kept him focused and he didn't care so long as they provided even an ounce of comfort or distraction. The ones he liked the most were usually really surreal and hyper-sexual, with images of people in bondage and chains, with bare legs and chests and sexually charged imagery playing relentlessly. After he would saturate himself with countless videos he would fall into restless periods of sleep where his dreams would mirror what he'd just watched, and he'd wake up with his heart beating a frantic staccato in his chest like it would burst at any moment.

One dream stood out more vibrantly than the others and it seemed to play on repeat inside of Kyle's head, like there was a tiny projector inside his brain that would screen that dream on a loop. In the dream, he was seated on a giant throne wearing an ornate ball gown with layers and layers of fluffy petticoats spreading out around him and falling over the arms of the chair. The dress was hiked up in the front so his legs were on display and his feet bare, and piled all around him were thousands of shoes in hundreds of different color and styles. Seated before him were Mark and Stan and sometimes Rebecca, all of them slipping different shoes on his feet as he sat slumped in the chair, and his eyes were dead and blank. There was a golden crown perched on his head but there was also a choker circling his throat, and attached to it was a chain that looped around the throne. He wasn't sure who was supposed to be royalty in the dream; was he a prince or a servant?

It wasn't until Friday night that his mother finally put her foot down and said enough was enough. If Kyle kept refusing to speak to anyone or go to school she was going to force him to go see a psychiatrist, and that seemed to snap him out of his stupor; at least enough so that he didn't feel comfortable completely isolating himself anymore.

"I'm sorry, Kyle. I really don't like giving you ultimatums but I can't help you if you won't talk to us," she said, wringing her hands.

Kyle had finally allowed his parents into his room and they stood there looking helpless, with Kyle sitting on his bed and refusing to look them in the face. His phone lit up at his side with another call from Stan, but he angrily sent the call to voicemail. His parents looked at each other worriedly.

"Sweetheart, you're barely functioning right now and I don't know why. What happened?" His mother pleaded with him.

Kyle shifted uncomfortably, the TV remote lodged under one of his thighs. He pulled it out from under himself and threw it on the bed.

"I'll go back to school but I'm not talking about anything," he said, tightly. "Nothing happened anyway. I told you, I just didn't feel well the past couple of days. I had food poisoning or something."

"We believe that you weren't feeling well, son, but we think there's more going on than that," his father said.

"I don't care what you think," Kyle said.

"Did something happen at school?" His mom asked. "Stanley has been by every day but you won't talk to him. Did you two have a fight?"

"Shut up! That's none of your business!" Kyle yelled.

"Kyle!" His father stepped forward, his voice stern. "Don't speak to your mother that way. We're only trying to help."

"I don't want your help," Kyle replied, turning his back on them.

"Kyle, please. Just talk to us."

Kyle could feel tears stinging his eyes and he angrily brushed them away. "Fine," he said. "If you want to help me, then I have something to ask you."

His mother came over to his side and tried to look in his face, Kyle turned away. "What, Kyle?"

He sighed, fighting back the tears, his nose burning like he needed to sneeze. "Did I ever have night terrors as a kid?"

"What?" His father asked, sounding confused.

"Did I ever have night terrors?" He asked again, angry that he had to repeat himself when it was already so difficult to speak without sobbing.

"Well," his mother said, "for awhile when you were really little, yes, you did have trouble sleeping. There was a couple years there where you were terrified to go to sleep, but you were very young so we just thought it was your imagination." She thought a moment and then added, "You were always a very anxious child so I think that was part of the problem."

Kyle turned around to look at her. "Really?"

"Yes, we almost took you to a therapist but I guess you grew out of them before it came to that. Usually it's just a phase that children go through."

"But Stan said he never saw anything like that when we had sleepovers."

His father smiled. "You two didn't start sleeping over at each other's houses until you were 6 or 7. You'd grown out of your sleep issues long before that."

"Kyle, where is all of this coming from?" His mother asked.

"Why didn't you guys ever tell me about this?" He asked, ignoring her question.

Mrs Broflovski glanced at her husband. "I'm not sure, to be honest. I guess we just didn't want to bring it up because it was such a stressful time, and you were finally getting better." She shrugged. "I suppose we just didn't want to dwell on something that was so unpleasant."

Kyle looked down at his hands as he mulled over this explanation. A small part of him was starting to see a glimmer of a chance that Stan's suggestion was false, but another part of him was still terrified and terribly confused.

"Kyle?"

He looked up, and his mother was looking at him with naked concern on her face. "Why won't you tell us what's going on?"

He stood up and went over to his dresser where he started pulling out a pair of jeans and a shirt.

"What are you doing?" His father asked. He'd walked over to Kyle's mother and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"I have to go out."

"Go out? Where?"

Glancing at the clock, Kyle saw that it was already 6:30. "To Stan's football game. I've never missed one; he'll expect me to be there."

"But you've been sick! I don't think it's a good idea for you to go out when it's so chilly tonight."

"I'll be fine, mom. I'll wear a coat, okay? I just need to get out of my room for awhile."

"If you're sure, Kyle. But, please, don't be out too late. I'll fix a plate up for you when we have dinner so you can have it when you get home, alright?" His mother asked, anxiously.

"Sure thing," he replied, and he was actually able to smile for the first time in days. The relief on his parents' faces was so profound that he almost wanted to cry.

"Come on, Gerald, let's give Kyle some privacy." Sheila said, ushering Mr. Broflovski out of the room. Before leaving, she looked back at Kyle.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?"

Even though Kyle had no intention of disclosing the truth behind what was really bothering him, he didn't want to lie if he could help it. He looked at her and shrugged. "I really don't know, mom. But I'm going to try to be, at least."

******

As Kyle walked to the school that night, he couldn't stop thinking about how quickly things could change, and how strange the world looked to him now. It had been less than a week but he felt like everything was different. He walked down the same streets and passed the same houses, he took his familiar route to school with the same familiar sounds and smells, but a metamorphosis had occurred within him; and even if it wasn't visible from an outsider's perspective, he knew that he couldn't be the same.

He supposed he had always tended to be naive, and would continue to be, but not like he was before. Now his mind had been opened to new threats that he'd never had to think about before, and although he didn't realize it at the time, it had stripped him of a piece of his childhood. He would look back on this time in his life when he was older and off on his own, being an adult with an adult's responsibilities, and would realize that the end of innocence doesn't happen in an instant, but is a systematic breakdown that comes through a series of betrayals and bitter pills that life gave you no option but to swallow.

Kyle knew that he was clutching at straws right now, that what his parents told him didn't necessarily mean that the awful possibilities weren't true, but at the very least they had given him enough comfort to at least try and make sense of his life again. He'd never had the foundation of his life so shaken before, where it had gotten to the point where he had checked out and refused to deal with it, opting instead to lay in his bed and let the world carry on without him, because the load he was made to shoulder became too heavy. For now, with this possibility of salvation, he had enough strength to try and keep going.

He'd made it to the school where he could see the lights from the stadium pouring out into the night, and the sounds of cheering and the band playing an upbeat march ringing in his ears. After being in his room all week and by himself, the idea of a huge crowd of people made him feel fragile; like he'd shatter from the din like a vase pushed off a table. He pulled the hood of his jacket over his head and tried to make himself small and unobtrusive as he walked over to the field. Climbing up the bleachers, he kept his head down as the crowd roared.

Standing in the nosebleed section, he looked out at the field to search for Stan, but was surprised to see that he wasn't playing. Instead, he saw him sitting on the bench, his elbows on his knees and watching the game. He couldn't believe it; as far back as he could remember, he'd never seen Stan riding the bench at the beginning of a game. He was always first string.

"Kyle! Over here!"

He looked around at the sound of his name and saw Wendy waving to him a couple of rows over. She was sitting with Bebe and Heidi and some of the other girls. Some of his friends were sitting in the seats behind them, glancing at Kyle curiously. Reluctantly, he walked over to join them, sitting down beside Wendy after she had made room for him.

"Where have you been?" She asked, looking pretty in her violet pea coat and the autumn air putting rosy color in her cheeks.

"I've been sick," he responded. His eyes were still glued to the #7 on the back of Stan's uniform. "Why isn't Stan playing?"

He saw Bebe and Wendy exchange glances. "What?" He asked.

"He got suspended from the game," Wendy replied, looking uncomfortable. "I'm surprised he didn't tell you himself."

"Suspended? Why?"

Wendy wasn't one to gossip so she was reluctant to answer this question, but running her mouth was Bebe's bread and butter so she was only too happy to tell Kyle what she knew.

"There's a rumor going around that he beat the crap out of Mark," she said. "Of course, I can't really confirm that but that's what everyone is saying. Anyway, he's been suspended from this game and the next one as punishment."

"You're not serious," Kyle said.

"Cross my heart and hope to die," Bebe said, motioning with a white-mittened hand.

Kyle looked at Wendy, who nodded slightly.

"I can't believe it. Why would he do that?"

"Haven't you talked to him at all this week?" Wendy asked, gently.

"I haven't talked to anyone this week," he replied.

South Park ended up losing to North Park that night, but not without putting up a valiant effort. Kyle was worried, knowing that Stan would blame himself for the loss because he had made it so he couldn't play, and no amount of arguing would convince him otherwise. Breaking away from the crowd, Kyle waited for Stan in the parking lot, where he found his beat-up little car. Stan must have been working on it this week because it had been out of commission since the third week of school, and was constantly in a state of disrepair. Kyle sat on the hood, watching as the stadium emptied out.

Finally, he saw Stan walking across the parking lot, having changed into his street clothes and carrying a gym bag slung on his shoulder. He was walking with some of his teammates but when he saw Kyle he waved to them and hurried towards him.

"Hey," Kyle said, waving a little and smiling.

"I didn't think you'd be here," he replied, jogging over.

"I haven't missed a game yet, so I'm not going to start now," Kyle shrugged, sliding off the hood of the car. Feeling awkward, he brushed off the seat of his pants and avoided looking Stan in the eye. He knew Stan would blame himself for missing the game but Kyle felt guilty for starting the whole mess in the first place.

"It's not like it would've mattered if you weren't here," Stan said. "I didn't get to play anyway." He opened the door to the backseat and threw his bag inside. Slamming the door, he leaned back against it with his hands in his pockets.

"Well, it matters to me, whether you play or not," Kyle replied. "So, I heard from Bebe that you might have gotten into a fight."

Stan rolled his eyes. "Leave it to Bebe to run her big mouth," he muttered. "Yeah, I might have slammed someone into a locker." He paused. "A couple of times," he continued.

"I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that it was Mark who got slammed into a locker," Kyle said, crossing his arms.

Stan looked away and let out a breath, the weather turning cold enough that Kyle could see it hanging frostily in the air. "Maybe."

Kyle walked over to him and before hesitating a moment, reached out to touch his arm. "Why? Why did you do that? Now you can't play."

Stan pulled his arm away and looked at Kyle, his face irritated. "Really, Kyle? How could you possibly ask me a question like that? I don't give two shits about football if that dirty prick did something to you." He leaned his head back against the top of the car, his face tilted up toward the sky. "Besides, I'm only going to miss two games. Coach pulled some strings so I didn't get pulled for the rest of the season."

"But, still," Kyle said. "You didn't have to do that. I really don't want you getting into trouble for me. I mean, I appreciate that you wanted to protect me, but what did it prove? You look like a bully and, sure, Mark was probably made fun of for getting his ass kicked, but he's probably getting sympathy too."

"I know, but I was so angry, Kyle. After you'd been out of school for a couple of days and you wouldn't answer my calls or respond to my messages I knew you must have been having a really hard time. And then I saw fucking Mark walking around school like nothing was wrong and I just lost it." He pushed himself away from the car and started pacing, his voice almost frantic now. "So, I skipped practice one day and waited for him at his locker and just went crazy on him."

"Wow, but did you even tell him why you were attacking him? Like, did you even ask him anything?" Kyle asked.

"Well, no, not really. I kind of just saw red and before I knew it I was bouncing him off his locker," Stan replied, running a hand through his hair. "You should've seen how his sister responded, dude. She was hysterical."

"Well, can you really blame her? Suddenly her brother is getting jumped and they have no clue why," Kyle said, feeling a little sorry for Rebecca. A small part of him also felt bad for Mark in case he was actually innocent. "My parents also told me that I did have night terrors as a kid," he added.

Stan stared at him, his forehead creased. "Yeah, so?"

"Well, I mean, Mark could've been telling the truth," Kyle said, quietly.

Stan ran both his hands through his hair now, a gesture he typically made when he was really frustrated about something. "You've got to be kidding me. There's no way you believe that, right?" He looked at Kyle when he didn't respond. "Right?"

"Well, I honestly don't know."

"Are you fucking for real? So you had night terrors as a kid, so what? It's still a flimsy ass excuse in this situation. That psycho could've drugged you and violated you and you're going to buy that bullshit explanation?" Stan shouted.

A weeks' worth of anger, humiliation, and fear broke through Kyle's defenses in an instant when Stan yelled at him like that. He thought back to the nights of restless sleep and terrible dreams and sitting in front of the fridge at 3am, stuffing his face like a feral animal and being in the bathtub until it was ice cold and feeling like he'd never be clean again, and Kyle just cracked.

"What do you want me to do, Stan?" He exploded. "Huh? It's almost like you don't even want to consider the possibility that nothing fucking happened that night!"

"What? No, that's fucking ridiculous. I just-"

"Just fucking let me have this," Kyle seethed, cutting him off. "I didn't even want to leave my room until my parents told me that stuff, and now you're trying to take it away. I can't imagine going to school or waking up in the morning and seeing the sun or just existing if I can't at least be given the option that nothing happened to me. Do you get that?"

Stan could only stare at him wordlessly, but his silence spoke volumes to Kyle.

"No, of course you don't get that," he said, almost laughing. "Because you're not in my position, and you've never been in my position. I pray to God that you never are, but for now, stop acting like you know what's best for me because you have no fucking clue what this feels like."

His voice broke into pieces as the tears finally began to fall; tears he'd been holding back the entire week. "I know I'm being stupid, that I'm being naive and clueless and whatever, but Jesus Christ, if it makes it so I can even consider going on, isn't that enough? And how would knowing the truth make me feel any better anyway? Wouldn't it be worse?"

Stan came over to Kyle but had the presence of mind not to try and touch him. "I just don't think it's a good idea to lie to yourself. I think you need to know what happened so you can try to heal. This isn't healing, Kyle. It's just pretending that nothing happened."

Kyle looked at him but through the tears he was an unrecognizable mess, much like Kyle at the moment. The thought of it would've been amusing under different circumstances. "What are you imagining here, Stan? Do you think there's going to be this huge confrontation between me and Mark where he confesses everything and then volunteers to go to the police? What planet are you on?"

Wiping an arm across his eyes, Kyle tried to collect himself but knew it was impossible. He coughed, trying to clear his throat of tears and mucus. "So I ask Mark flat out if he did something to me, and then what? Either he lies or has definitive proof that nothing happened and then I look completely stupid and crazy. Yeah, that'll really help me feel better."

"What if we went to the police ourselves?" Stan asked, helplessly. "Couldn't they do a rape kit or something?"

Now Kyle really did laugh. "You've watched way too much Law and Order, Stan. Besides, I've taken about a million baths since last week so they wouldn't find anything anyway. And if Mark gave me anything it left my bloodstream a long time ago so they can't even check for that."

"So, what can we do? Anything? Or do we just act like nothing happened because we wouldn't be able to know for sure anyway?"

Kyle nodded. "I guess so. Honestly, my body doesn't feel any different. My head is totally fucked up from the idea that Mark did something, but other than the bruises I seriously feel the same."

"Aside from the fact that your mind is a fucking blank after a certain point," Stan said, sounding bitter.

"I did drink and smoke a lot, Stan. Or did you forget that part?"

"Of course I didn't. Christ, Kyle, we wouldn't even be having this conversation right now if you hadn't..."

"If I hadn't what?" Kyle bristled.

"Well, what the hell were you thinking hanging out with that guy and then getting wasted?" Stan asked.

Kyle reeled like he'd been punched in the gut. "Are you really asking me that question? What does it matter?"

"It matters a lot, Kyle. I mean, look at the situation we're in now."

"There's no fucking way I could've known this was going to happen," Kyle said. "And now you're blaming me because someone else could've..." he shook his head at the thought. "And what do you mean the situation 'we're' in? The last time I checked, you didn't need to be a part of any of this. You're just insisting on fucking getting into my business."

"What are you talking about? Of course this is my business. You're my goddamn boyfriend!"

"Don't do me any favors," Kyle replied.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're a fucking asshole and I can't believe you're basically accusing me of getting myself raped! You are fucking unbelievable!" Kyle shouted. He turned to him and wanted to punch his face in, throw something at him, do anything to make these awful feelings just go away.

Stan strode over to him and ignoring Kyle's protests, pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, and Kyle could feel his heart buzzing in his chest like it was a frightened, helpless creature. For a moment, he tried to push him away, but finally collapsed against him, needing to feel like somebody cared. He'd gone without human contact for the whole week and he felt starved and hollowed out, like everything good had been ripped from him and the only things that had been left were the things that wanted to destroy him. He started to sob.

"I didn't know, Stan," he cried. "I didn't ask for this."

"I know, Kyle. It's okay. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. If anything happened, it's that dirty fuckers fault; not yours." He held him close, rubbing his hair and his back, sheltering him like his mother used to do when he was little and woke up from a bad dream. The fact that the bad dreams had leaked into real life where Kyle couldn't wake up from them and escape terrified him. All he could do was cling to Stan and try to weather the storm.

"I'm not going to confront him. I can't," Kyle said, starting to calm down.

"No one's going to force you," Stan replied, the heat from his body bleeding through his jacket and reaching Kyle. "You need to do what you're comfortable with; what you can live with."

"Let's just forget all about this, okay? We won't say anything and we'll just assume I was hallucinating. No harm, no foul." Kyle looked up at him, searching his face desperately. Stan looked tired and sad but nodded.

"Fine, if that's what you want," he said.

At this point, Kyle couldn't have said exactly what he wanted; not entirely, anyway. What he did know was that he was tired of thinking about all of this, and just wanted to go back to normal. Whatever normal was now, anyway.

He hugged Stan, still feeling horribly alone even though he was in his arms, but was starting to feel a little better because they had reached some sort of conclusion with all of this. Whether or not it was the right one remained to be seen, but at least it was a place to start.

*****

The next week passed easily enough for Kyle, all things considered. He still had trouble sleeping and concentrating, but through a herculean effort on his part, no one on the outside could tell that he was falling apart; piece by piece.

The sporadic moments of appetite had all but disappeared, rendering Kyle with no desire to eat at all. He'd returned to eating dinner with his family, but most of the time he pushed his food around on his plate, only taking a couple of bites when all was said and done. His parents had noticed but hadn't said anything yet, chalking it up to teenage surliness, but Kyle's mother had made a mental note to speak with his doctor, in case there was anything else she should be doing.

As a result, Kyle's clothes had started to become loose on him, and he felt tired very easily. He started developing headaches by the end of the day, and if he stood up too fast black dots and colored lights would flash in front of his eyes, and he'd have to lean on something in order stay upright. Kyle had always been skinny but now he was bordering on frail, like a strong gust of wind would blow him away. He always felt cold, even when he was inside the house and sitting in front of the fireplace, a fire blazing on the hearth and wrapped in one of his mother's homemade quilts.

South Park had been plunged into the very heart of Autumn, and with it came frigid nights and early morning frosts, the sun seemingly catching the grasses on fire when it struck the frozen dew at daybreak. Usually, this was Kyle's favorite season but this year he couldn't seem to muster up the same enthusiasm as in the past. After missing a week of school, Kyle had had to scramble to catch up in all of his classes, not to mention his extracurricular activities, tutoring, and volunteering. But now he just didn't seem to have the same drive as before, and often wondered why he was putting in so much effort.

Thankfully, even though his appetite failed to return, he was able to cobble together enough concentration to start studying again, and he fell into a grueling routine that was even more intense than before. It's not that he was as obsessed with his grades as much as wanting to be distracted from his thoughts. He'd stay up as late as he could stand it, poring over his books and assignments, often working ahead of the class. It got to the point where Wendy noticed and started to become suspicious.

"I didn't think you cared about being valedictorian, Kyle," she said out of nowhere during physics one day near the end of October.

"What?" Kyle asked, glancing up from their latest test; a big red A+ was emblazoned across the page.

"You've just been really dedicated to your work lately," she said, eyeing his paper. She covered up her own with her arm, making it so the A wasn't visible.

"I've always been pretty dedicated, Wendy. What's your point?"

Wendy shrugged. "I don't know. You've just been a little off lately, I guess." She peered at him. "Are you okay?"

Kyle was about to answer when Mark returned to his seat in front of Kyle. He'd gone to the bathroom when the teacher had passed back their tests. Picking his up, he smirked. He turned it around for Wendy and Kyle to see; Kyle looked on indifferently but Wendy just grunted at the A+.

"Oh, look, I even earned myself a 'fantastic' at the bottom of the page." He held it up for them both to see. Wendy rolled her eyes and turned back to Kyle.

"So, are you okay or not? You look really pale today."

Kyle groped for an answer as Wendy watched him closely, and he could feel Mark watching him too, making the side of his face burn.

"I've meant to say something too, Kyle," he said. "You've been really quiet lately."

Fighting back a feeling of panic, Kyle attempted to answer offhandedly. "Oh, I've just been really tired from studying and stuff; no big deal. I just need to start going to bed earlier, I guess."

"Is that why you haven't really responded to any of my texts?" Mark asked, taking him by surprise. In the past couple of weeks Kyle had started to avoid his phone, only really using it to talk to Stan or to set his alarm for the next day. He'd noticed a few texts from Mark and a few of his other friends but he'd mostly ignored them. He talked to most of his friends at school every day so it wasn't a big deal if he didn't text them, but he'd mostly been trying to avoid being alone with Mark so it made sense that he was finally saying something.

Kyle blushed and scrambled for an answer. "Yeah, pretty much. Sorry, I've just been so preoccupied lately."

"Well, I've been meaning to tell you that I spoke to my mom about your wanting to be a doctor, and she'd love to meet with you to answer any questions you might have," he said. "I've been trying to tell you for awhile but you either don't respond to my texts or you're with Stan." Reaching up, he gingerly touched the bruise healing around one of his eyes, his expression flinty.

After returning to school from his absence, Kyle had decided to play it cagey whenever Mark brought up Stan's assault on him. Naturally, he knew that Stan and Kyle were very close so he had assumed that Kyle could shed some light on why he had attacked him so viciously and without any apparent motive. He'd looked pretty banged up for a couple weeks, with a split lip and a wicked looking black eye; his cheeks covered in bruises. Kyle remembered Stan saying that it was the least Mark deserved if what they suspected was true.

It became pretty clear very quickly that Kyle either knew nothing about Stan's motivations regarding the attack, or he just refused to talk about it, so Mark had stopped bringing it up after awhile. Subsequently, Kyle noticed that Mark gave Stan a very wide berth, even going as far as eating inside the cafeteria with Rebecca during lunchtime instead of their usual place in the courtyard. Stan and Kyle had continued to eat outside under their tree, at least as long as the weather permitted it. Every now and then, Kyle would catch Mark staring daggers at Stan, but Stan never showed that it bothered him. If anything, he never avoided Mark and made it very clear he was always up for round two, when and if Mark made the mistake of putting himself in Stan's path.

"Anyway, I wanted to know when you'd be free so I can let my mom know," he continued. "Her schedule is pretty full but she said if we just give her a date she'll make herself available."

"I didn't know your mom was a doctor," Wendy said, looking impressed.

"Yeah, and she can't stand the fact that I don't want to follow in her footsteps," Mark replied. "So, when I told her I had a friend who was interested in the medical field she almost lost her mind."

Kyle almost cringed when Mark referred to him as a friend but tried to remain calm. After all, he had his suspicions but that didn't make Mark guilty. The fact that he'd gone out of his way to talk to his mother about Kyle was really touching, and he felt genuinely grateful for that. He was also surprised to find himself actually excited at the prospect of meeting with her; as an accomplished surgeon, he was sure she had a fascinating perspective of her field. This was the first time he had felt truly excited about something in weeks.

"Wait, what about your sister?" Wendy was asking as he tuned back into the conversation.

Mark raised his eyebrows. "Becky? What about her?"

"Does she want to be a doctor?"

"Of course not," Mark said, acting like the idea was preposterous.

"Oh, she told you that?" Wendy asked. Wendy was by no means a gossip but that didn't mean she wasn't nosy.

"Not in so many words, but I'm pretty sure I would know whether or not my sister wanted to be a doctor," he said. "She tells me everything."

"Hmm," Wendy said, glancing at Kyle. He wasn't sure if she was trying to goad Mark or what, but he pretended to be very absorbed in the cover of his notebook at that very moment.

"Anyway, Kyle," Mark said, "when would you be free? I was thinking we could all have dinner together so you two could talk."

Before he could respond, Wendy interjected. "Oh, I wanted to ask you before I forgot, Kyle, but you never got back to me about my Halloween party. You'll be coming, right? With Stan, of course."

"Yes, we'll be there," Kyle replied, still turning Mark's invitation over in his head.

"You're invited too, Mark. I gave Rebecca an invitation last week."

"What? She never told me about that." Mark said, confused.

"Oh, really? I thought she told you everything," Wendy said, smiling innocently.

The bell rang then, granting Kyle a reprieve from having to answer Mark's question. As they left the room he could see Mark shooting Wendy dirty looks which she pointedly ignored, a satisfied look on her face.

****  
"So, do you have any costume ideas yet?" Stan asked, sipping his hot chocolate.

It was later that week and Stan and Kyle were strolling along downtown South Park. Snow had begun to fall that morning, frosting the sidewalks and sticking to the streets. Kyle pulled the collar of his jacket up so that his neck was better protected from the chill. They were trying to come up with ideas for Wendy's Halloween party but to no avail. Kyle looped his arm around Stan's, enjoying being out with him and feeling like things were slowly getting back to normal. They'd both agreed that, while they weren't really big on parties, it would help to go just to get their minds off of everything that had happened.

Mark had continued to hound Kyle about coming over for dinner but he kept avoiding the issue so he wouldn't have to deal with the fallout; namely, bringing up the idea to Stan. Spending any time with Mark made Kyle feel queasy, but the idea of spending an evening talking with an actual doctor and having his questions answered was incredibly tempting.

"No, not really," Kyle replied. Stan had coaxed him into getting a hot chocolate too but he really didn't want it. Instead, he held it between his gloved hands relishing its warmth. "I'm just trying to mentally prepare myself to be around so many people."

"Well, I'll be there so I'll look out for you. Besides, I think it would be really healthy for you to be around people. You've been isolating yourself so much." Stan said, putting his arm around him. Kyle felt a moment of panic when his arm settled across his shoulders but fought it back. It'd been very difficult for him to get back to a place where he wanted to be touched, and even now he didn't want to kiss or do anything too intense with Stan. Even the idea of it made his anxiety spike.

"You know Wendy invited Mark and Rebecca to the party, right?" He asked, sidestepping Stan's comment about him avoiding people.

Stan groaned. "Yeah, I know. I don't mind if Rebecca goes but there's no way I can stomach being in the same room as that son of a bitch."

"He won't come anyway if he knows you'll be there," Kyle said. "And he knows that she invited us too."

"Well, good, then I don't have to worry about it. It's hard enough seeing him at school and not putting his head through a wall." Stan grumbled, squeezing Kyle's arm a little harder.

"You always say the most romantic things," Kyle said, smiling. In his pocket, he could feel his phone vibrating and he pulled it out to see who was calling. Mark's name was flashing across the screen, creating a feeling of tension in Kyle that made him slightly nauseous. He sent the call to voicemail as casually as possible, not wanting to alarm Stan.

*****

"Okay, I think I got it," Ben said, sliding his notebook over to Kyle for him to review.

Kyle took it and started looking over Ben's answers, relieved that that week's tutoring session was almost over. It was Friday afternoon and he was just ready for the school week to be over with. Scanning the page, he groaned slightly.

"You're still missing this one little part so your answers are all a little off," he said, circling the areas he wanted Ben to focus on. "Remember when we talked about simplification?"

"Oh, yeah. I forgot," Ben replied, looking sheepish. Kyle pushed his notebook back to him and noticed Wendy smirking at him. She was doing her own schoolwork while Sophia labored over her own page of problems, her brow furrowed with concentration. At the table next to them, Mark was working with Malcolm who looked very nervous even though Mark hadn't yelled at him since Kyle's explosion last month. Kyle had been making it a point to sit with Wendy or Butters during tutoring just to ensure that Mark couldn't find a seat close to him. He glanced at Mark but he was engrossed in explaining a formula to his charge.

"What's so amusing?" He whispered.

"I'm just imagining what kind of lame costumes you and Stan came up with for tomorrow," she replied.

"They aren't going to be lame," Kyle responded, annoyed. "They're just going to be simple."

"Simply lame?" She asked, smiling.

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Whatever. You'll see them tomorrow and then you can judge for yourself."

Kyle and Stan had finally agreed to go as Mormons, with white button up shirts, black slacks, and backpacks. They were both going to part their hair and wear it neatly styled, which Kyle really wasn't looking forward to. He had no idea how he was going to tame his hair enough to do anything with it. Stan had said something about borrowing his sister's hair straightener but he still wasn't sure.

"I'm going as Frida Kahlo," Wendy volunteered.

"Why is it that doesn't surprise me?" Kyle asked. He noticed that Mark was looking over at them so he lowered his voice.

"She was a woman with a singular vision," Wendy said.

"Spare me," Kyle replied, watching Mark out of the corner of his eye. Mark had looked away but Kyle still felt nervous. He'd done everything in his power to avoid Mark since they'd hung out but it was starting to wear on him. Kyle had very little energy these days trying to keep up with his regular schedule and having to dodge Mark on top of it was especially grueling. There were a couple times where he either wanted to confront him or just throw caution to the wind and totally forget that anything ever happened, but he really couldn't make a decision. He was caught in an aggravating stasis where he didn't want to make an actual choice because he wasn't prepared to deal with the outcome of either option.

While Kyle was lost in his thoughts, Mr. Mackey entered the library to announce that the tutoring session was over. In the flurry of activity that followed, Wendy managed to remind Kyle that the party started at 7 pm and that he and Stan were free to bring whatever they wanted.

"Even beverages of the alcoholic variety," she said, conspiratorially. This little aside did not surprise Kyle; Wendy was as straight-laced as they came but she could drink most people under the table if the occasion called for it. Kyle told her he would swipe a bottle of his mom's wine, even though he felt bad that'd he'd already lifted one with Mark. He hurried out of the library, making sure to avoid Mark, and was on his way to the exit when Mr. Mackey called to him from outside of his office.

"Kyle, could you hold on for a second?" He waved him over and Kyle groaned inwardly. Mr. Mackey had a habit of pontificating and he needed every second to put more distance between himself and Mark. Reluctantly, he turned back, praying that Mark would be gone by the time Mr. Mackey finally let him go.

Surprisingly, Mr. Mackey kept the tête-à-tête brief, merely asking if Kyle was okay with tutoring an additional student instead of just one, which Kyle said would be fine. Mr. Mackey thanked him profusely and told him he'd go over the details with him next week, and Kyle tried to convey that he was in a hurry but as politely as he could.

"Well, have a great weekend, Kyle," Mr. Mackey said, waving him out the door. Kyle hoped he didn't look too strange peering out into the hallway to make sure the coast was clear, but tried to act as naturally as possible. Heaving a sigh of relief, he saw that the hall was empty and silent as a tomb, and he proceeded to hurry out of the school before anyone else tried to detain him.

"Kyle!"

He had almost made it off of school grounds when he heard a familiar voice calling his name. Turning, he saw Mark approaching him, wearing his standard black fitted jacket. For a moment, Kyle considered making a break for it but realized there was no point; he'd been caught out in the open because of goddamn clueless Mr. Mackey. He came to a stop, waiting apprehensively as Mark caught up to him.

"I'm so glad I caught you," Mark said, breathing heavily as if he'd had to run after Kyle. "I was afraid I'd miss you again; you always run off right after tutoring so I never get a chance to talk to you."

"Oh, yeah, I've just been kind of busy lately," Kyle said, lamely. He avoided making eye contact and reached a hand into his pocket to feel for his phone, just in case.

"So, what's the deal, Kyle? I've been asking you for weeks about coming to dinner to meet with my mom and you won't give me a straight answer." He looked at him, his strange eyes dark. Kyle suddenly felt like he was pinned in place, like a butterfly stuck to a board.

"I'm sorry, I've had a lot on my mind lately," he finally said, looking down at the dirty pockmarked snow under his shoes.

"Well, I can appreciate that, but it's almost like you're avoiding me," Mark said. "I'd kind of like to know why because I thought we had a good time when we hung out." He paused for a moment, like he was considering something. "I did, anyway."

A slew of - memories? hallucinations? dreams? - filled up Kyle's mind in that moment, and it was almost like he was back in Mark's room in the darkness, but instead of lying side by side he was being pinned to the mattress, unable to move. He also remembered the way Mark's lean body slid into the water when they were swimming, how he had admired his arms and his back and the thought made him blush furiously; he hated how his body responded to Mark even when his mind was terrified of him. For a split second, it was almost like he was floating suspended in that room again, but he still didn't know if it was a dream or the truth.

"I had a good time, too," he replied, shakily, still looking everywhere except in Mark's eyes. "I'm not avoiding you, I've just been so focused on schoolwork and -"

He stopped when Mark advanced on him, his handsome face contorting into that cold look he wore when he talked about his father. Kyle had to resist the urge to back up. "Cut the bullshit already. You've been using that line for the last month and I don't want to hear it again." He stared at Kyle and his face relaxed, but only slightly. "I feel like I've been really nice but I'm starting to get tired of not getting a straight answer for what I feel is a very simple question." He took another step towards Kyle.

Just then, Kyle heard a car horn, and saw Stan's car pulling up alongside them, almost like a gift from Heaven. He felt almost dizzy with relief, his heart hammering away in his chest.

"Uh, I guess my ride is here," he said, edging towards the car. Stan rolled down the window while glowering at Mark.

"Everything okay, Kyle?" He called.

"Yeah, we were just talking," Kyle replied. Mark was staring at him, his eyes narrowed. He put his hands in his pockets and smirked, shaking his head.

"We'll finish this conversation later, I guess," he said. "We wouldn't want to keep Stan waiting, would we?" Turning, he gave Stan a little wave. Stan responded by flipping him off.

As they pulled away from the curb, Stan seethed. "I can't fucking believe that guy. Was he waiting for you or what?"

"I guess," Kyle replied, staring out the window. Looking in the rear view mirror, he saw Mark still standing on the sidewalk, watching Stan's car. Everything about him seemed dark in that moment; his clothes, his hair, even the energy he gave off. Kyle watched him, a lone, slim figure standing in the cold, growing smaller until he disappeared from sight. Kyle sighed and leaned his head against the seat, suddenly feeling very tired.

Stan reached over and placed his hand on Kyle's thigh, and he had to fight the urge to push it away. For a moment it felt like he was being touched by Mark, and he was horrified at the feeling of desire that uncurled inside of him. It was brief, but it was undeniably there. He could've vomited he was so repulsed by himself in that moment. There was something about Mark that created a reaction in his body, even as his mind openly rejected him.

"Hey, are you okay? He didn't try anything, did he? I waited outside because I was worried he'd harass you or something," Stan said.

"No, I'm fine. Its just," he faltered, trying to find the right words to express his frustration. "I just thought your mind and your body were supposed to work together, you know? Sometimes I feel like mine are two separate entities that just operate independently of one another."

"Wait, what? What are you talking about?"

"Nothing, just forget it." Kyle said, disgusted by the thought of even bringing the subject up to Stan. He closed his eyes and tried to put Mark out of his mind, but he kept seeing him there, waiting, his tailored black jacket and his sleek form stark against the snow covered landscape; always watching.


	6. Chapter 6

### The spider turned him round about, and went into his den,  
For well he knew the silly fly would soon be back again:  
So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly,  
And set his table ready to dine upon the fly.

**-The Spider and the Fly: A Fable by Mary Howitt**

****

 **I wanna love you,**  
**But something’s pulling me away from you**  
**Jesus is my virtue,**  
**Judas is the demon I cling to**  
**I cling to**

**-Lady Gaga, "Judas"**

  ********

"Stan, Kyle, you guys look great! Come in!" Wendy stepped aside to let them pass, her hair gathered into braids on top of her head and accented with fresh brightly-colored flowers. She'd drawn a very convincing unibrow with dark eyebrow pencil to complete the look.

Stan and Kyle stepped into the foyer, where orange and purple lights had been strung along the banister and fake cobwebs hung from the ceiling; bats and skeletons hung along the walls. Entering the living room, the lights had been turned down to create a spooky atmosphere, and in the gloom they could see their friends and classmates milling about, mingling and dancing. Dance music blared, the bass turned up and thumping like a giant heartbeat.

"Grab a drink," Wendy said, following them. "Everything is in the kitchen. Oh, and there's a ton of food, too." She was already starting to slur her words, even though the night was still pretty young. Stan and Kyle had gotten there a little later than they'd intended, mainly because Kyle had a hell of a time trying to straighten his hair enough to part it. He was still only semi-successful. They were both wearing white button-down shirts tucked into black pants, backpacks, and Stan had even supplied a couple of copies of the Book of Mormon for them to carry, leftover from the days when his father tried to make them convert.

As Kyle's eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, he started to make out familiar faces. He recognized Bebe, who appeared to be dressed as a slutty unicorn, with a short multicolored tutu, leotard, high heels and what looked like a fake papier mache horn on her forehead. She was grinding against Clyde who was dressed as a pirate, so Kyle figured they had reconciled enough to come to the party together. Off in the corner he saw Kenny, who was dressed as the Transylvanian Transvestite; leaning against the wall and drinking a beer. He was chatting with Butters who was dressed as a fluffy penguin, a small plate of snacks clutched in one wing.

"Which of you losers is up for some beer pong?" Cartman bellowed, coming out of the kitchen and holding two red solo cups in the air. Kyle wasn't surprised to see him dressed as the Coon, a persona he never seemed to get tired of even though the rest of them had left their superhero alter egos in the past.

"Bring it, motherfucker!" Wendy yelled. Ordinarily, she wouldn't use such foul language, but she was a completely different person when she threw parties. The great thing about Wendy's parties was that her parents completely trusted her, so they always left the party unchaperoned, never thinking that their uptight, good girl daughter became a complete deviant when the booze started flowing and the lights were turned down. Kyle grinned. He was actually a big fan of this version of Wendy; it usually inspired him to loosen up as well.

"Dude, I'm going to get so wasted tonight," Stan said, grinning. "What do you want? Beer?"

"I think I'll just have a bottled water," Kyle said. "I don't think it's a good idea if I drink tonight."

"Oh, Kyle, it'll be okay. Besides, there's no way that psycho would show up knowing that we're here together," Stan said, reaching down and squeezing Kyle's hand. He felt himself relenting; maybe one little drink wouldn't hurt.

"Fine, just grab me a wine cooler," he said, smiling. "Nothing too crazy."

"I'll be right back," Stan said, heading towards the kitchen.

Kyle looked around the room, looking for someone to talk to. He always felt so awkward at parties, at least until the booze kicked in. The living room was pretty crowded, but he saw that the french doors leading out onto the back patio were open. He could see couples out there dancing, but it wasn't nearly as busy. Being careful not to run into anyone, he headed outside and into the cold air. Wendy had decorated the backyard too, orange and purple lights strung along the fence and bushes, and candles with ghostly yellow LED lights were lining the patio. Jack o lanterns with leering faces were strategically placed on the patio table and on a bench pushed up against the house, the candles inside throwing shadows.

Under the stark autumn sky, the stars scattered like dry frost, couples danced to the music that was still thumping inside. A couple of people were passing around a blunt, the smoke escaping from their mouths and dissolving into the air. The smell of it reached Kyle's nose and he shuddered, remembering the way Mark had expertly inhaled, the orange embers glowing like tiny meteorites when he flicked the joint away.

"There you are," a voice said behind him, and his heart skipped a beat. He felt a bottle being pressed into his hand, and Stan was there, holding a red solo cup like the ones Cartman had brandished above his head. "I got you an Arbor Mist. There's no way you'll even get a buzz with that."

"Oh, thanks," Kyle said, reluctantly bringing the bottle to his lips and taking a sip. Bittersweet pineapple strawberry flavored alcohol flowed into his mouth, and he almost let himself relax. He glanced at Stan and saw him take a huge drink of whatever was in his cup.

"God, I love rum and coke," Stan said, taking another drink. Reaching down, he gripped Kyle's ass, surprising him, and he gasped. "Come on, let's go say hi to everybody." Before Kyle could reply, he'd ushered him into the house; swigging the last of his drink.

*****

Hours later, the party was still going strong, and even though midnight was looming, the music was still pounding, the drinks were still flowing, and Kyle and the rest of the party goers were caught in what felt like a group intoxication; everyone joining together in a blur of dancing and laughter. Kyle and Stan found themselves seated in the dining room, with Wendy sitting at the head of the table and Cartman, Kenny, Butters, Clyde and Craig in the other chairs. Tweek, Bebe, and Jimmy were standing around, watching as an intense game of strip poker was underway.

"Read 'em and weep!" Cartman was saying, as he threw his cards down on the table. "Full house, bitches!" He looked at Wendy and raised his eyebrows. "I think you know what happens next."

Wendy was already sitting at the table in her white lacy bra and her long red skirt, her hair starting to come out of her elaborate braids so it was hanging around her pale shoulders. She'd managed to wipe away most of her unibrow by this point. She scowled at Cartman and took a shot of Jack Daniels, grimacing as it burned down her throat.

"I know you're cheating," she slurred. She threw her cards down and crossed her arms.

"Prove it," he said, smiling.

Everyone started hooting as Wendy pushed herself away from the table and stood up. Reaching back, she unzipped her skirt and started pushing it down and over her hips, revealing a pair of lacy white panties that matched her bra. Cartman's eyes almost popped out of his skull he was staring so hard. Kicking the skirt off, she stood there in her lingerie, white thigh highs, and a pair of black high heels.

"Happy now?" She asked, her hands on her hips.

"Is that a real question?" Cartman asked, practically salivating.

Wendy sat down and crossed her legs, smiling licentiously at Cartman. Bebe patted her on the shoulder, having already been stripped down to her bra and panties too, her long blond hair spilling down her back. Butters was in his boxers and a white t-shirt, Kenny had been reduced to his fishnet stockings and underwear, Clyde was shirtless, and Stan wasn't wearing any pants; having only his button up shirt left. Kyle wasn't an active participant, so only he and Cartman were still fully dressed.

Kyle had only finished one wine cooler and had spent the rest of the evening nursing a second, so he barely felt tipsy. Stan had had quite a few rum and cokes as well as a few beers, and was feeling pretty loose. He had snaked his hand under the table and rested his hand high up on Kyle's thigh, squeezing him gently every so often. Pretty much everyone else was three sheets to the wind already, or were well on their way, and Kyle felt like he was the only semi-sober person left, lost in a frenzied bacchanalia. Kenny had even brought some pills for people to try, and had passed out molly and oxy's to anyone who was interested.

Cartman was shuffling the cards while staring at Wendy's cleavage, getting ready to start a new hand, when Stan leaned over and whispered into Kyle's ear.

"You want to go upstairs?"

Kyle flushed to feel Stan's hot breath on his earlobe, and nodded slightly. Stan stood up and grabbed his pants from the back of his chair. Kyle rose from his place as well, pushing in his chair demurely. Wendy was pouring another shot of Jack as they walked out of the kitchen, but was sober enough to remind them that her bedroom was the last door on the left once they climbed the stairs. Kyle saw Stan give her a thumbs' up over his shoulder as he followed him out of the room. The rest of the crowd in the kitchen erupted in cheers and catcalls.

"Get it, you guys!" Kenny called.

"Have fun, fags!" Cartman added.

"Shut up and deal, Eric," Wendy said.

They climbed the stairs to the second level of the house, and Stan reached back to Kyle, offering him his hand; shyly, Kyle took it. Leading the way down the hall, he opened Wendy's bedroom door and they stepped into the darkness, closing the door behind them. Stan managed to find Wendy's bedside lamp and snapped it on, illuminating the room, which was ultra feminine and neat. The lamplight cast a reddish glow across the room's interior, and Kyle glanced over to see a ruby-colored piece of fabric thrown over the lampshade.

"I wonder if Wendy was going for a red-light district vibe with that thing," Kyle said, gesturing to the lamp.

"Who knows? Wendy is an enigma," Stan replied, throwing his pants on Wendy's orderly desk. Walking over to Kyle, he reached out and cupped his face in his hands, and he kissed him softly. Kyle felt Stan's tongue licking along his bottom lip gently, and he almost sighed. Stan started backing him toward the bed, still kissing him, and reached down to start unbuttoning Kyle's shirt. Panicking, Kyle pulled away from the kiss.

"So, do you think Cartman and Wendy are going to do it?" He blurted out, asking the first question that popped into his head.

Stan stared at him, bemused. "Probably," he replied. "It wouldn't be the first time." He leaned in and tried to kiss Kyle's mouth again but he turned his face away.

"Wow, really? They've had sex before?"

"Kyle, are you nervous or something?" Stan asked.

"No," Kyle responded. "Well, yes."

"Why? It's not like we haven't done stuff like this before," Stan said, putting his hands on Kyle's waist and pulling him close. "Besides, it's been so long since I've gotten to be like this with you. I really missed it."

"Me, too. I guess my head is still messed up because of Mark," he said, resting his head on Stan's shoulder.

"I understand, and I don't want to make you do anything you're not ready for," Stan murmured, stroking Kyle's hair.

Kyle looked into Stan's face, his heart welling up with emotion and tenderness, and it was in that moment that he was pretty sure that he loved him. The thought had crossed his mind before, but now it had a new weight behind it; a solidity that made it undeniable. He wound his arms around Stan's back and held him close, and this time he initiated the kiss.

They kissed each other deeply, their hungry mouths tasting each other's lips, while their tongues slowly slid together. Kyle tasted the essence of coconut rum in Stan's mouth, its sweet mellow flavor resting on his tongue and almost making him swoon. The music was still pulsing in the living room below, making the floor vibrate, and Kyle knew that all of their friends were downstairs still steeped in revelry, but in that moment he and Stan were infinite; boundless and fused into an exquisite singularity.

Kyle let Stan back him towards the bed, where they continued to kiss.

"Let me give you a massage this time," Kyle said, licking along Stan's throat; his tongue passing over the pulse throbbing in his neck. He unbuttoned Stan's shirt and parted it, sliding his hands across his chest and relishing the feeling of how warm the skin was there. He pulled off his shirt and threw it on the floor, guiding Stan onto his stomach on the bed so he could rub his back.

The faint aroma of lilacs clung to Wendy's down comforter as Kyle straddled Stan's back, and he breathed in their scent along with Stan's cologne. Rubbing his sinewy back, Kyle could hear Stan groan and his body started to relax under Kyle's touch. Just the act of massaging Stan like this made Kyle feel aroused, and he pressed his erection into Stan's back so he'd know the effect he had on him. Continuing to stroke his back, Kyle was on the verge of telling Stan that he was ready to go a little bit further that night when he heard Stan's heavy breathing followed by a faint snore.

"Stan? You didn't fall asleep, did you?" He asked.

Stan snored in response, his breathing even and deep. Kyle couldn't believe it. Fighting the urge to shake him awake, he sighed and climbed off of him, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring into space. What the hell was he supposed to do now? In all fairness, he supposed he deserved this turn of events; after all, he'd fallen asleep under Stan's hands before. Reluctantly, he had to admit that turnabout was indeed fair play, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Sighing, he glanced at Stan again, hoping that he might wake up but he didn't so much as stir. Standing up, he quietly left the room; his arousal and subsequent frustration leaving him agitated.

After opening a few random doors that led to other bedrooms, Kyle found the bathroom and entered; taking care to shut and lock the door behind him. He splashed his face with cool water at the sink, and after appraising his reflection in the mirror, he mussed up his hair a little, not used to seeing it straight. He was untucking his shirt when he heard a knock at the door.

"I'll be right out," he called, annoyed that he was barely in there for five minutes before someone started knocking. The person knocked again, almost like they hadn't heard Kyle or were just blatantly ignoring him.

"Someone's in here," he said, irritated. "Just give me a second."

Another knock sounded at the door and now Kyle was really annoyed.

"Dude, fuck off!" He yelled. Leaning on the sink, he looked down and watched the water swirling around the drain and disappearing; little gurgles chuckled far away in the pipes. He waited, anticipating another knock but it didn't come. Sighing, he finished up his business and went to open the door, his hand resting lightly on the doorknob. Apprehension rose within him, keeping him from leaving the bathroom. Waving it away, he turned the knob slowly and pushed the door open, fully expecting a person to be waiting in the hallway. Relief flooded through him when he saw that there wasn't a person in sight.

I really need to relax, he thought, feeling stupid. He knew that there were other people upstairs besides him and Stan. When he'd gone hunting for the bathroom he had opened multiple doors revealing trysting couples, so it stood to reason that some random inebriated person had knocked on the door. A pervasive sense of dread continued to gnaw at him though. He briefly looked in on Stan, who was still snoozing peacefully on Wendy's bed; having rolled onto his side while clutching a pillow to his chest. Smiling, Kyle closed the door softly. Heading downstairs, he mentally prepared himself for the scene he was walking into; he likened it to the aftermath of a battle, but the casualties had been laid out by booze and debauchery.

He wasn't disappointed. In the haze of smoke and muted lighting he could see people draped over couches and chairs, totally faded by alcohol and drugs and most likely fatigue; he noted that it was already after midnight but Wendy's parties typically lasted into the early morning hours. Thank god her parents never stuck around to see what her "quiet get-togethers" actually entailed. The poker game in the dining room had broken up for the most part, but Wendy and Cartman were still at the table; Wendy still in a state of undress but now she was sitting on Cartman's lap, straddling him. They were kissing so intensely that it looked like they were getting ready to digest each other.

Kyle wandered into the kitchen to grab another wine cooler where he found Kenny and Butters. Kenny was sitting on the counter with Butters standing between his legs, apparently deeply engrossed in conversation with one another. Butters' eyes were droopy and Kenny was running a hand through his hair, his other arm wrapped around Butters' waist. They looked up briefly when Kyle entered the room.

"Don't let me bother you," he said. "I'm just grabbing another drink."

"I could use another drink," Butters said, looking up at Kenny.

"I really don't think you should have anymore alcohol, babe," Kenny replied. "Not after you took that oxy. Aren't you feeling it yet?"

"I feel a little fuzzy, I guess."

"Oh, yeah. It's kicking in," Kenny smiled, pulling him closer.

Kyle grabbed a fuzzy navel and scooted out of the kitchen, not wanting to intrude on what was clearly a private moment. Butters and Kenny had been entertaining one another ever since Freshman year, and while they never explicitly stated that they were together, everyone was aware of their feelings for each other. Kenny batted for both teams, so he had fucked around with boys and girls alike, but he always circled back around to Butters at the end of the day, who was always glad to receive him.

He passed through the living room, stepping over classmates sprawled hither and yon, and walked out onto the patio, which was empty. The night sky had reached its zenith in terms of darkness, having acquired that deep midnight violet that's so thick it almost seemed to have a weight to it. The stars were lights tossed on the tides of infinity, straining through the darkness and still managing to reach Kyle, who was feeling fragile and small as he walked across Wendy's expansive back lawn. Sipping his fuzzy navel, he admired the last remaining Autumn flowers struggling against the cold and silvered by the glacial light of the moon.

Night breezes caressed his face and he closed his eyes, taking in the enormity of being alone under such a dramatic starscape. Usually he didn't have a problem with being by himself, but after the month he'd had he hungered for other people sometimes; not wanting to go back to the mindset he'd had during those late night binges and solitary baths. He thought of Stan upstairs in Wendy's room and desire bloomed inside of him again, and without provocation he thought of Mark and his elegant hands; the way they could potentially grab him and -

He shook his head. How sick was he that he could even have thoughts like that? Maybe he was going crazy. He pulled his phone and headphones out of his pocket, needing to listen to music so he could distract himself from these awful, disconcerting thoughts. Laying back in the snow-tinged grass, stretched out under the sky, he listened to his music and tried to keep his thoughts clean and normal; his eyes closed.

"I feel like we've acted out this exact situation before," a voice said, cutting through the music and his thoughts respectively. Startled, Kyle opened his eyes and sat up, looking around.

"Hey," Mark said. He was smoking a cigarette, the smoke curling around his face when he exhaled, and as usual, he was dressed in his long black coat and dark slacks. The coat was open at the throat, and Kyle saw a glimpse of a loosened tie around his neck. Standing up quickly, Kyle nervously brushed grass and snow from his clothes.

"You didn't have to get up, Kyle. What, were you meditating or something out here?" Mark asked, taking another drag on his cigarette. "I'm sorry if I broke your concentration."

"No, I was just thinking," Kyle responded. Puzzled, he stared at Mark, who continued to nonchalantly smoke his cigarette. "I didn't think you'd be coming tonight," he finally said.

Mark shrugged. "Neither did I, but Becky held my feet to the fire." He finished the cigarette and flicked it away where it landed on the snow, sizzling faintly. Kyle wanted to tell him not to throw crap on Wendy's lawn but he kept the thought to himself.

"Oh, so she forced your hand?" He asked, still eyeing the cigarette butt. Maybe he could pick it up when Mark wasn't paying attention.

"Yeah, she can be pretty persuasive." Smirking, he looked up at the sky. "It's no big deal; I owed her one anyway. Man, I can see why you're out here instead of in there with all of them. Hey, isn't that Pegasus? What is that one part called? The Great Square? Although, I'm pretty sure that group of stars is an asterism and not an actual constellation, right?"

Kyle shook his head. "I'm not sure."

"I'm so rusty when it comes to astronomy but that doesn't stop me from pretending to know what I'm talking about," Mark said, still gazing up at the sky. "God, I just want to fall into it, you know? Get lost and leave all of this mundane bullshit behind."

Kyle smiled, despite himself. He remembered the night he hung out with Mark and had gotten high; how he'd felt like if he let go of his chair he'd float away into the sky. He also recalled the telescope sitting out on Mark's balcony, and wondered whether or not he spent a lot of time out there by himself, studying the galaxy.

"One of my favorites has to be the teapot," Mark said. "It's a part of Sagittarius, but it's more of a summer thing. One of my favorite things to do is get super fucking high and just look at the stars, you know?"

"I can't say that I've ever done that," Kyle admitted.

"We need to do that together sometime," Mark said, and he glanced at Kyle. "I even promise not to bring up religion."

"What?"

"I can't look at the stars without thinking about God, which I'm sure isn't unique at all." He paused. "If anything, it's probably incredibly cliche, which I can live with. I just need to keep reminding myself that it's not a crime to have the same thoughts as other people. I mean, we're all in this together, aren't we?"

"Sometimes I'm not so sure." Kyle crossed his arms, trying to fight the chill working its way under his clothes. "You guys are so late. The party started hours ago."

"I guess we're fashionably late then," Mark shrugged. "Besides, we showed up awhile ago. I think it was right after you went upstairs with Stan."

Kyle froze. "Oh?"

"Yeah, we walked in and saw that crazy strip poker game going on," he rolled his eyes. "I don't remember who mentioned it, but they said something about you guys being upstairs in Wendy's room." Reaching into his pocket, Mark pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Want one?" He asked, holding it out to Kyle who quickly declined.

He tamped the pack against his palm and then flipped it open. Drawing out a cigarette, he put the pack back in his pocket. Flipping open a silver zippo, he lit the cigarette and took a long pull, the smoke escaping between his lips. "You know, I have a lot of reasons to hate my father but I gotta say," he took another drag and exhaled slowly, "I just can't hate on him for getting me hooked on this."

"Your father encouraged you to smoke?" Kyle asked, incredulous.

"More or less. He always seemed like he was in a better mood when he was smoking, so I guess I just associated it with being happy." He thought a moment. "You and Stan weren't upstairs for very long."

"I guess not," Kyle said, thrown by Mark's habit of abruptly changing the subject. "It's not like I was watching the clock the whole time."

"Well, yeah, he'd have to be pretty shitty in bed if you were counting the minutes," Mark laughed.

Kyle blushed. "He's not shitty. I mean, not that I would know, but-"

"Not that you would know? So what were you guys doing up there? Your taxes?"

"No, we were..." Kyle trailed off, annoyed. "It's really none of your business anyway."

"Maybe not, but I'm pretty sure I could teach Stan a few things," Mark replied.

"About sex?" Kyle asked, stumbling over the word like it was the first time he'd ever said it out loud.

"No, about you."

Kyle's heart started pounding in his chest, so much that he started to feel lightheaded. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think you do." Mark said, breathing out a long stream of smoke. "What are you drinking anyway?"

Kyle looked dumbly at the drink he'd perched in the snow. "It's a fuzzy navel," he said, faintly. Feeling numb, he reached down to pick it up. Mark came over to him and he almost cringed.

"May I?" He asked.

Kyle nodded, and Mark took the bottle from his hands. He took a sip. "Oh, I like that. You have good taste." Bringing the bottle to his lips again, he polished off the whole thing. Feeling dizzy, Kyle took the bottle from him and walked over to the cigarette butt Mark had thrown on the snow. He bent down to pick it up, and deposited it in the now empty bottle. Mark finished his current cigarette and placed it in the bottle, too.

"I have to be honest, I was pretty sure this party was going to blow but I'm actually pleasantly surprised," he said.

Kyle couldn't think of anything to say.

"I mean, I had to deal with that idiot Clyde when we first got here, but he's basically harmless," he remarked. "As long as he stays away from Becky I don't give a shit what he does. And Stan was occupied so we avoided another ugly scene. Speaking of which," he paused, shooting a sideways look at Kyle, "what was the deal with all of that?"

"I have no idea."

"Okay, so you're fucking this guy but you can't tell me why he attacked me? That makes a lot of sense."

Kyle looked at him, horrified. "Don't be vulgar."

"Relax, Kyle. You guys are fucking and everyone knows it. What's the big deal? It's nothing to be ashamed of. Although, it makes me wonder why you told me you guys were just friends."

"Jesus Christ, we are not fucking!"

"Well, that sucks. Stan doesn't know what he's missing."

"You are fucking demented!" Kyle shouted, wanting to lob the bottle in his hand straight at Mark's face.

"Kyle, you seriously need to relax. You know, if you were getting laid more often you wouldn't be so uptight," Mark said, laughing.

"That's it, this conversation is over," Kyle said, turning around and starting to walk back towards Wendy's house.

"Kyle, lighten up," Mark called. "You need to start being honest with yourself about what you want."

"I'm very aware of what I want," Kyle said, turning back to face him. "For example, I want you to shut the hell up."

"That's not all you want from me," Mark said. "Not that you'd ever admit that. Being honest is not one of your strengths, clearly."

"You aren't making any sense right now."

"Look, just quit playing dumb and tell me what you said to Stan that made him slam me into my locker. I'd have to be brain-dead not to realize you had something to do with it. Quit insulting my intelligence here, okay?" Mark was looking at him with plain exasperation on his face now.

Kyle wondered if he should just come clean and be done with it. The act of carrying around this burden of having suspicions but no answers was wearing him down every day, and in that moment the prospect of having everything out in the open seemed like paradise. A quick snatch of a dream flitted through his head then, being on a throne in royal splendor, with Mark kneeling in front of him and placing shoes on his feet; maybe in the dream Mark had been at his mercy instead of the other way around. The idea appealed to Kyle, who was tired of being the one always capitulating.

At the same time, it felt like Kyle was existing in an acute dichotomy. One part of him wanted to have some power, but the other part almost wanted to be conquered; like the idea of being dominated or having his choices taken away was incredibly attractive. As always, he was torn, and he existed in a state of agonizing indecision. He'd never been so confused about his own mind and motivations, not since this all started; not since his ongoing breakdown began, and small pieces of himself started to crumble or warp completely.

Glancing at Mark, he shrugged. "Yeah, okay, maybe I talked to him about you."

"Okay, and?"

"And I didn't tell him to go and beat the crap out of you," Kyle said. "He did that on his own. I wasn't thrilled to hear that he'd done that, but honestly, I couldn't blame him."

"Why?" Mark's voice was starting to develop an edge.

Kyle hesitated, wanting to choose his next words very carefully. "Well, after we hung out, a couple of things just didn't make sense, I guess, and Stan was concerned."

"He was concerned? What the hell are you talking about?" The edge had morphed into outright irritation. "Get to the point."

"Fine! If you just want me to fucking say it, I will! You drugged me, Mark. You drugged me and then you-" His voice broke and he couldn't say the word; he just couldn't make himself. That word made him want to vomit.

Silence descended on them as Kyle's words hung in the air, and he was overwhelmed with a sense of relief but a brand new anxiety was close on its heels.

"Well," Mark finally said, and he cleared his throat,"that's an interesting theory, I guess. It's certainly disturbing, I'll give you that."

"It isn't a theory," Kyle said, even though he knew that it was; he really didn't have proof on his side.

"I'm pretty sure it is, though. I can safely say that I'm attracted to you, Kyle, but what you're suggesting," he stopped and made a slight grimace, "that just isn't one of my proclivities." He wiped his mouth and sighed. "Where would you even get that idea anyway?"

"The bruises, and I couldn't remember anything from that night. My mind was a complete blank, except for a couple of details. Details that I couldn't explain at all." Kyle responded, his voice weak.

"Dude, we drank a ton of alcohol and you smoked, what did you expect?" Mark asked. "As for the bruises, I told you how they got there. Now I know why they say you shouldn't wake up a sleepwalker." He ran his hands through his hair. "I don't know what you want right now. I mean, I can't stand here and tell you I did something I just didn't do."

Kyle started to say something but the words died in his mouth. Now he just felt completely lost and in the dark.

"I can't fault Stan for wanting to protect you or avenge you or whatever, but this is not something you just accuse someone of without proof. What if you'd gone to the police? My entire life could've been destroyed, Kyle."

He walked over to Kyle but Kyle couldn't bear to look in his face. Mark grabbed his shoulders and shook him, while Kyle had to fight back the urge to cry. "Aren't you even going to say anything?" He yelled.

"Of course you're going to deny everything, Mark. Why would you admit to this if you didn't have to?" A sob escaped his mouth and he was filled with shame at the sound. "I mean, the only thing you can do for me is tell me the truth so I can try to get on with my life in one way or another."

"It's not my fault that you're a repressed, neurotic mess, Kyle," Mark seethed. "Who knows? Maybe on some insane subconscious level you wanted this to be true."

Kyle pulled away from Mark and started to cry, the hot tears falling down his face and scalding his skin. All of the pressure inside of him seemed to culminate in that moment, and it was more than he could stand. Through his hysteria, he felt a warm pressure on his shoulder, and he turned his head to see Mark standing there.

"I'm sorry," he said, his hand resting on Kyle's shoulder. "I'm not trying to hurt you, but you have to admit this is a lot for anyone to digest at once. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the idea that you thought I was even capable of that." He gripped Kyle's flesh like it was keeping him tethered to the earth. Kyle flinched but didn't pull away.

"I guess I'm just crazy," Kyle said. "I feel crazy, anyway. I always feel like I'm going to completely fall apart; at any moment."

"You're just wound really tightly, Kyle. Anyone who knows you can see that. Just let go, it's okay. You can give into the things you want and still be a good person. You know that, right?"

"No, I don't," Kyle said, as the tears continued to drip down his face.

"Then I'll show you," Mark replied, and he turned Kyle towards him. Resting his hands on Kyle's face, he gently pulled him toward him and kissed him. His hands slid upwards into Kyle's hair, where they became tangled in the red waves.

For a moment, Kyle resisted, but he found himself sinking into the kiss like a person would sink into a warm bath; he was completely and utterly intoxicated by the taste of Mark, the feeling of Mark, the very presence of him. His mind became murky as seduction flooded him, and he surrendered completely. Kyle never could have guessed that confronting Mark would've turned out this way; he knew it was going to be dramatic and probably more than he could handle, and it was, but now he could barely believe that he was kissing Mark, and his tongue was sliding inside of his mouth.

"You taste just the way I thought you would," Mark whispered against his mouth when they broke away from each other.

Kyle reached up and placed his hands on Mark's chest, pushing him away. "I can't do this," he said. "It's wrong."

Mark pulled him close again, looking down into his face. "Yeah, Stan probably wouldn't like seeing you with me, would he?" He leaned down and kissed Kyle again, but he was more aggressive this time. He pressed his body against Kyle's, and he was much stronger than he'd anticipated.

"No, stop," Kyle said, pulling away. "You're right, Stan wouldn't like this, and neither do I."

"Well, we both know that's a lie," Mark responded.

"Aren't you guys cold out here?"

Kyle's heart almost stopped beating for a moment, terrified that Stan or one of his friends had caught him with Mark. It was only Rebecca, dressed like a Playboy bunny and holding a glass of wine.

Mark stepped away from Kyle slowly, and smiled at his sister, who took a drink and shivered in the night air. Her brown curly hair was down and wild, flowing past her shoulders and to the middle of her back. A pair of satin bunny ears were nestled on her head, and they matched the turquoise satin leotard she wore. The look was completed with a bow tie, dark stockings, and turquoise high heels.

"I told you you'd be cold in that getup," Mark said. "But you always want to do things your own way." He glanced at Kyle with a look that seemed to say, "sisters, right? what can you do?" Kyle could only shrug and stay silent, feeling horrible about being caught in flagrante delicto with Mark of all people. Stan was going to be heartbroken.

"I've been wanting to wear this costume for forever, Mark." Rebecca said, spreading her arms and gesturing at herself. "Christ, I bought it, I might as well wear it, right?" She looked at Kyle, her eyes narrowing like she didn't quite know what to make of him.

"You're Kyle, right?" She asked, draining the last of the wine from her glass.

"Becky, I'm sure you remember him," Mark said. "You two played doctor together."

Her eyes lit up with recognition and she laughed. "Yes, of course! I guess I should be thanking you for helping me experience my sexual awakening, right?"

Kyle could only look at Mark helplessly, practically begging him to intervene. Mark nodded at him and then gazed at his sister, looking her over like he often seemed to do with Kyle; appraising the subject and assessing its value.

Rebecca had grown into her figure dramatically, Kyle had to admit. Her proportions were almost exaggerated, and if Kyle had seen a drawing of her he would've assumed that the artist took liberty with her measurements. She resembled Mark of course, but in the places that he was lanky and angular, she was soft and full. If her curves were a road, it would be particularly treacherous.

"Give me one of your cigarettes, Mark. It's not like I have pockets in this outfit to carry my own," She said, reaching out a hand to him, a white cuff circling her wrist.

"I thought you were trying to quit," he said, digging in his pocket and handing the pack over to her.

"I'll quit when you do," she replied, pulling one out and putting it between her lips, which were stained a bright ruby red. She looked at Mark expectantly. Groaning, he pulled out his zippo and lit the cigarette for her. Inhaling deeply, she sighed a little, her impressive bosom rising and falling.

"Well, it's not a Virginia Slim but it'll have to do," she said, closing her eyes with satisfaction. Opening them, she peered at her brother. "What are you two doing out here anyway?"

"We're just smoothing out a little misunderstanding, aren't we, Kyle?" He looked at him, one eyebrow raised.

"Um, yeah. That's it," Kyle said.

"I only got a chance to talk to Wendy for a second," Rebecca said, taking another drag on the cigarette. "She came up for air long enough to come into the kitchen to get a beer for Cartman, and then she was gone."

"That's too bad," Mark said. "She can seriously do much better than Cartman."

"Tell me about it," she said, looking disgusted. "I guess he has this degenerate sex appeal to him, but the thought of actually letting him..." She shook her head. "I can't even finish that thought, it's too gross."

"Thank goodness you have better taste than that," Mark said.

"I don't have a problem slumming on occasion, mind you," she said, "but even I have to draw the line somewhere."

"Maybe you should enlighten Wendy to your obvious superiority," Mark commented, distractedly. "You can help her reclaim her dignity."

"No, I think she gets off on how taboo the whole thing is," she said, shaking her head. "Which I can completely relate to, but still."

"You guys sure are casual about this subject," Kyle interjected. "Being siblings and all."

"Why wouldn't we be?" Rebecca asked, looking at Mark.

"Don't mind him. He's repressed," Mark replied, saying the word like it was an incurable disease.

"Oh, you poor baby," Rebecca replied, looking at Kyle with pity. Kyle flushed. "I'm sure if anyone can help him, you can, Mark."

"I don't need anyone's help, I'm just fine," Kyle blurted out, tired of feeling like they were talking about him like he wasn't there.

"That remains to be seen," Rebecca said, finishing the cigarette and stubbing it out on the bottom of her high heel. "I don't know about you guys, but it's cold as a witch's teat out here. I'm going inside." She started picking her way through the snowy grass heading towards the house, a fluffy bunny tail clinging to her firm backside.

"Good idea," Kyle said, relieved to have a means of escape from what had become a very bizarre situation. He started to follow her but Mark grabbed his arm, holding him back.

"I'm pretty sure we still have a few things to talk about," he said, pulling him in close. Kyle strained to get away but Mark held him tightly until he finally gave in and relaxed against him.

"I'm really not in the mood for an involved discussion," Kyle said. "This night has been exhausting." He glanced at Mark's face. "And very confusing," he added.

Mark slid his hands down Kyle's sides until they were resting on his waist, he looked at him and his eyes were unreadable. "You feel like you're nothing but bones, Kyle." He said offhandedly. "You were thin before but now you're downright skinny."

Kyle tried shifting away but Mark held him fast. Frustrated, he gave him a dirty look. "I kind of lose my appetite when I think that I've been sexually assaulted," he said bitterly.

"I can see how someone might respond that way to trauma," he said. "However, as I've already told you, nothing happened. Move on, Kyle."

"Oh, yeah, it's just that simple," Kyle replied, rolling his eyes.

"It can if you want it to be," Mark said simply. "Well, this explains why you've been acting like a psycho and avoiding me, at any rate. So, when are you coming over to join a Cotswald family dinner?" His eyes brightened as the question left his lips.

Kyle looked at him in amazement. How could he be so cavalier about all of this? Not only had he been accused of date rape, but he'd also kissed Kyle when he knew that he was with Stan, and he just didn't seem to care. He was bizarrely unflappable and it was deeply unnerving. The only time he'd really shown any kind of reaction was when he considered the fact that Kyle could've gone to the police.

Peeling himself out of Mark's grip, Kyle shook his head, both at the notion of coming over to Mark's house for dinner, but also at how this whole exchange had unfolded. A couple years of therapy probably couldn't even help to put all of this in perspective; dealing with Mark sometimes was like taking a boat ride through the Twilight Zone. "There isn't going to be any family dinner, Mark. It's crazy that you'd even think that was a possibility."

"Wait, how is that crazy? You're the one that created a whole incident in your head and then accused me without any kind of proof. I'm willing to let bygones be bygones because we clearly have some kind of connection here, but that's me being crazy?" He pinched the bridge of his nose like he was deeply confused. "I'm being really understanding about all of this, hell, we just fucking made out, but I'm crazy? Okay. That's sound and inarguable logic, Kyle. You've got me."

"I'll admit that I jumped the gun if you're telling me the truth, but that doesn't mean I'm just going to blindly accept what you're telling me right now." Kyle said. "You could still be lying. Just because we kissed doesn't mean anything has changed or that I'll just magically believe everything you say."

"Even though you clearly liked kissing me? That seriously didn't change your mindset at all?"

"No," Kyle stammered. He collected himself. "No, it doesn't. Besides, I'm with Stan. He's the person I want. Not you."

"That's pretty hard to believe when you kissed me with very little persuasion. You don't have to be with someone just because you think you're supposed to be. What are you, a heroine in a romance novel or something? You don't need to act out this tragic love story."

"You're impossible. Look, I told you where I stand, take it or leave it." Kyle replied, tiredly. He was already walking away when he heard Mark calling to him.

"How is Stan going to feel about all of this? Can he take it or leave it, too?"

Kyle paused. "Is that a threat?" He asked, not bothering to turn around.

"Not at all. I'm just genuinely curious."

"I'm sure you are. You don't need to worry about Stan's reactions to anything because I've already made it pretty clear that this is none of your business."

He heard Mark start laughing. "Whatever you say, man."

******

Stan was pretty upset when he'd fully woken up the next morning and realized that he'd slept through an opportunity to potentially get laid.

"I knew I shouldn't have had so much to drink," he groaned, pressing his pillow over his face. Kyle watched him complain with a mild expression; this was going to be the least of his concerns after he disclosed that he had kissed Mark in a moment of sheer idiocy.

Kyle had slept over at Stan's house following the party, and they'd stumbled home a little after 3 am when he'd finally been able to rouse Stan from Wendy's bed. The party was still going reasonably strong when they left, but after Kyle's run-in with Mark he was ready to leave. On their way out, he had seen Mark smirking and watching him, drinking a smirnoff ice and talking with Rebecca and a few other people. Rebecca had waved to him like she didn't have a care in the world, and Kyle supposed in that moment she didn't.

Sighing, he considered the early morning sunshine streaming through Stan's window while agonizing over how he was going to destroy his heart. He couldn't just blurt out this sort of information wantonly, no, he needed to have a plan, right? But how was he supposed to plan for a situation he'd never in a million years thought he'd be in?

Checking his phone, Kyle noticed a text from Mark and his heart started pounding:

The party stopped being interesting as soon as you left.

Scowling, he deleted the text, disgusted with Mark but even more disgusted with himself. What the fuck was he thinking? For all he knew, he had made out with his own assailant; he couldn't even begin to fathom how sick that was. There was a chance that Mark was telling the truth, of course, but how could he really know for sure? The flavor of cigarettes mixed with what had to be Listerine came back to him, and it was almost like he was kissing Mark again; and there, dark and concerning was the faint uprising of desire.

He glanced over at Stan who was still laying on his bed with his pillow over his face. He'd taken off his shirt but he'd slept in his slacks, so Kyle could see his bare chest rising and falling softly with his breaths. He went and sat next to him on the edge of the bed, and traced a finger along his stomach. Stan started a little and removed the pillow.

"I feel like I've been hit by a train," he said, peering up at him.

"That doesn't surprise me. I lost track of how many rum and cokes you had," Kyle replied.

"Am I crazy or did I see Mark and his sister in Wendy's living room when we left last night?"

"Yeah, they showed up after you'd already fallen asleep," Kyle said, looking away.

Stan groaned. "My head is fucking pounding." He said, covering his face with his hands.

"I'll get you something to drink," Kyle said, standing up. "Coffee or juice?"

"Water," he paused. "And coffee too, I guess."

"I really hope I don't run into your parents."

"They're never up before 11 on a Sunday, you should be fine."

I highly doubt that, Kyle thought, leaving the room.

Half an hour later, Stan was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and sipping a cup of coffee. He'd taken some Excedrin and Kyle recalled the morning he'd woken up in Mark's bed, his head pounding. He'd taken Excedrin then too, and while it had taken the edge off of his hangover it hadn't provided any clarity. Watching Stan drink his coffee, Kyle's stomach was tied in knots, and the words he needed to find that could possibly save them just wouldn't come.

Putting his coffee cup down, Stan looked at Kyle, a frown on his face. His blue eyes were red rimmed, and Kyle thought they looked a little sad.

"I'm sorry I acted like a dumb ass and drank too much last night," he said. "I really hope Mark didn't try anything weird."

Kyle let out a trembling breath and felt his chest tightening up in the way it always did when he was preparing to do something he really didn't want to do. It happened when he was going to give a speech or when he had to have blood drawn, and now it was happening as he was getting ready to reveal to Stan what a piece of garbage he was. Stan's face looked so open and untarnished in that moment, and that just made the moment even harder to bear.

"Well, uh, Mark and I did end up talking last night," he finally managed to say.

Stan's eyebrows knitted together. "You did?"

"Yeah, and, well, I broke down and told him why you beat the shit out of him." He looked down at his hands; trembling lightly. Clasping them together, he could still feel them shaking.

"What did he say?" Stan asked. He didn't look angry yet, but he did look very alert, like his muscles were already beginning to tense up.

Kyle stood up and started pacing. "I mean, I laid it all on the line. I told him what we suspected, about him drugging me and whatever, and of course he denied everything."

"Naturally."

"And, I don't know, Stan. When he stood there and basically told me I was a crazy fool for even mentioning the idea to him, I just felt like I was going to fall apart right there. Like, I had this crazy feeling in my head, and my chest felt like it was starting to fill up with water, like I was drowning, you know?"

Stan stood up and walked over, deliberately standing in Kyle's path so he couldn't keep walking the floor. Putting his hands gently on Kyle's shoulders, he looked into his face. "Just tell me what happened."

Kyle bit his lip and looked away, tears already burning at his eyes and he hated them. They had been his undoing with Mark last night; had shown how weak and pathetic he really was. He had always thought of tears as kind of a cleansing force, like fire scorching a field and making it healthier, but these tears just split him wide open and made him vulnerable to everything.

"Stan, Mark kissed me, and I didn't stop him. I-I kissed him back."

Slowly, Stan let go of Kyle's shoulders and backed away, his eyes wide and blank, like they weren't even capable of sight. Blinking rapidly, he sniffed a little, and brought his hand up to his face to cover his mouth. His pupils dilated as his eyes shifted to focus on Kyle, and he shook his head.

"You're not serious," he said.

"I wish it hadn't happened, and I don't know why I let it happen," Kyle said, feeling like he was crumbling inside. He knew Stan was going to be completely blindsided by this turn of events, but he never could've imagined that awful, dead look on his face; like someone had pulled a string inside of him and made all the lights turn off. He reminded Kyle of his house when nobody was there; sitting lonely and vacant.

Stan went and sat on the bed heavily, staring down at his hands like they didn't belong to him anymore. "Do you remember when we watched The Graduate?" He suddenly asked.

"Yes, we watched it back when we first started high school," Kyle replied, confused.

"Remember how at the end of the movie, after the guy rescued the girl from the church and getting married to someone she didn't love," he licked his lips, "remember how they rode away in that bus and at first they looked so happy, but then you could tell reality was setting in and their faces changed and they just looked completely lost like, god, where do we go from here?"

"I think so, yes," Kyle said.

"Well, that's kind of where I am right now, I guess. Where the fuck do we go from here, Kyle?"

"I don't think it's even fair for me to have a say in what happens next," Kyle said. "I hurt you. My bad decisions brought us to this point so why should I get to decide where we're going?"

Stan sniffed and dropped his head like it was too heavy to keep holding up. "So, now everything is in my lap, huh? You go out and do what you did, and now you get to step back and let me take the reins like you're doing me some kind of favor?" Looking up, he glared at Kyle. "I didn't create this situation, you did. I don't know what it is about Mark but whenever you're around him you do these impulsive, out of character things and I just don't understand why."

"Neither do I, honestly," Kyle said, softly. "I guess he's an outlet or something. It's stupid but he seems to tap into a part of me that's very hard to control, something uninhibited and wild and he just knows how to manipulate it, and me."

"Do you like that he's able to do that to you, Kyle?" Stan asked. "I mean, you have to like it at least a little or else you wouldn't keep letting him do whatever he wants."

"I don't like that out of control feeling, Stan, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that sometimes I feel like I'm attracted to him. Or at least I'm attracted to whatever makes him able to twist me around. I'm really not sure."

"Well, I'm as in the dark about all of this as you are," Stan said, pushing himself onto the bed and up against the wall, his knees pulled up to his chest. "In fact, out of every person in this scenario I'm the one who's in the dark the most. I just get to stand by and deal with the fallout of everything that happens between you two, and I don't know how much more I can take."

Kyle's stomach lurched when he heard him say that, not that he could blame him.

"You're attracted to that guy? Really?" Stan looked at him like he needed to be committed. "Just last month you were complaining about him kicking your ass, and then you actually hung out with him and we think he might have done something to you. Something completely awful, by the way," he emphasized, "and now you're attracted to him?" Shaking his head, he ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end. "What the fuck is even happening right now? Have you lost your goddamn mind, Kyle?"

"I didn't say it made any sense," Kyle replied. "And, yes, I probably have; at least, that's how it feels these days. I hate myself for feeling this way. I feel like I should be able to control this kind of thing, but my body just reacts and seems to ignore rational thought. This isn't something I'm proud of, Stan."

"What about us, though? Do you even want to be with me?" Stan asked, his face stricken.

"Of course I do! I just want things to stop being confusing and complicated," Kyle said. "I really don't know what I was expecting, though. This kind of stuff is always complicated, right?"

Stan shrugged. "It is when you let people get in your head and start messing with your thoughts. God, I just hope I'm not doing the same thing and I don't even realize it."

"I can safely say that you and Mark are completely different in that regard," Kyle replied.

"Maybe that's part of the problem, though. That guy clearly has something about him that you're interested in, or else we wouldn't even be having this conversation."

Kyle looked at him and saw the earnestness that seemed to define Stan's personality plain on his face; the simple drive to do the right thing and the honesty of his feelings for him. There was a pureness to Stan that called to mind wintertime and clear, distilled vodka; there was no pretense there that Kyle could see. Mark, on the other hand, represented the unknown; late nights lost in a fog of inebriation and wine bottles clinking under your feet as you crawled out of a rumpled mess of a bed at noon; your body sticky with sweat and maybe even blood.

"It's purely carnal," Kyle said. "I guess. It's not like I have the same feelings for him that I have for you. Being with you makes me happy, being with him just makes me feel confused and weirdly excited. I don't know. The whole thing is ridiculous." He looked at Stan, who was still hugging his knees to his chest and looking dazed. "I'm so sorry, Stan. I don't know what I can even do to make things okay again."

"Neither do I," Stan replied, softly, and Kyle's heart tripped over itself in a way that left him breathless.

"Do you want me to leave?" He asked.

"No, I don't."

Surprised, Kyle looked at him. Stan lay down on his bed and opened his arms to him. "Come here," he said. "I don't really feel like talking anymore. I just want to hold you for awhile and think, if that's okay."

Wordlessly, Kyle went to him and allowed himself to be curled into Stan's arms, taken aback by the warmth he still felt there, like it would all disappear after his confession. Pressing his face to Stan's t-shirt, he smelled fabric softener and something else, something he couldn't really pinpoint, but it put him completely at ease. He started to cry because he couldn't help it, and Stan ran his fingers through his hair and tried to comfort him.

"I don't deserve this," Kyle murmured.

"I'll be the judge of that," Stan replied.

They passed the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon this way; with vibrant autumn sunlight pouring through the windows and the sounds of Stan's family coming to life somewhere in the rest of the house. In the quiet that followed Stan tried to come to terms with the revelations he'd been thrust into, and Kyle tried to sort out his feelings as well as his guilt. They were together but separate in that moment, waiting for their story to continue; whether it be with a fresh chapter or an unsatisfying conclusion. Only time would tell.


	7. Chapter 7

  **But I know a place where we can go**  
**That's still untouched by man**  
**We'll sit and watch the clouds roll by**  
**And the tall grass wave in the wind**

  **You can lay your head back on the ground**  
**And let your hair fall all around me**  
**Offer up your best defense**  
**But this is the end  
This is the end of the innocence**

  **-Don Henley, End of the Innocence**

 

  *******

**I've got you under my skin.**  
**I've got you deep in the heart of me.**  
**So deep in my heart that you're really a part of me.**  
**I've got you under my skin.**  
**I'd tried so not to give in.**  
**I said to myself, this affair never will go so well.**  
**But why should I try to resist when, baby, I know so well**  
**I've got you under my skin?**

   
**-Cole Porter, I've Got you Under my Skin (sung by Peggy Lee)**

****

"It was so nice that your parents let you stop by for Thanksgiving, Kyle," Mrs. Marsh said as she placed a fresh pumpkin pie on the counter, its fragrance mixing with the cinnamon candles burning in the center of the table. They culminated to create a smell that Kyle would always associate with family and a feeling of belonging. He smiled as Stan's mother offered him a generous piece.

"Thank you, Mrs. Marsh," he said, taking the container of Cool Whip that she passed along as well.

"Sharon? Hey, Sharon? Can you bring me another drink? I don't want to miss any of the halftime show," Randy called from the living room. Mrs. Marsh rolled her eyes and went to the fridge to grab a beer. She smiled at Stan and Kyle as she left the kitchen.

"Enjoy your pie, boys."

"Thanks, mom," Stan called, taking a bite. Kyle resisted the urge to wipe Cool Whip off of his mouth.

"This is really good," he said.

"Oh, it's one of those frozen pies. She just throws it in the oven for an hour," Stan smiled, taking another bite. "But she bakes it with love so I guess that makes all the difference."

"Have I ever told you how sentimental you are?" Kyle asked, nudging him.

"On occasion. You missed my dad's sweet potato casserole, by the way," he said. "I'm sure he'll insist you take some home. He made way too much."

"Something to look forward to, I guess," Kyle replied, finishing the last bite of his pie. He was just happy to be with Stan, mainly because it felt like it had been forever since they'd been together like this; content and comfortable.

After Wendy's ill-fated Halloween party, Stan had withdrawn from Kyle in a way he never had before. In fact, he became so remote and distant that it had scared Kyle, but he'd waited, knowing he had no right to demand more of him than he was ready to give. In fact, it still felt that way sometimes, like they were in the same room, sometimes in the same bed, but Stan was in another world entirely. Kyle missed him all the time, but kept continuing to hope that they could come back together in the way that he craved. He prayed that time did indeed heal all wounds.

Stan admitted to being hurt in a way he had never really experienced before, and it was taking everything in him to keep going some days. They were both grieving in different ways, Kyle supposed; and a dark dread seemed to flood his skull at the most unexpected times, and he'd have to take a moment to catch his breath. For a week or so after his confession, Stan had been very aloof, not responding to calls or texts. He hadn't randomly dropped by Kyle's house and he hadn't been waiting for him after tutoring sessions. He needed space, he said, and even though it was killing Kyle inside he dealt with it because, really, it was the least he could do.

That gave Mark ample opportunity to converge on Kyle like the predator he was shaping up to be, but he was more dangerous than he gave him credit for. His presence was deceptively innocuous; waiting on the fringes for a vulnerable moment. It didn't help that he took advantage of the fact that he knew Kyle at least had a physical attraction to him, but it was clear he wanted more of an influence than that. He never did anything that could be considered untoward, but Kyle was on edge just the same; waiting for the other shoe to drop, and hating himself for being even remotely interested.

He'd catch himself watching Mark on occasion, during tutoring or a random moment in class. Kyle would watch the industrial lighting of the school catch highlights in Mark's dark hair, or he'd watch him chew on the end of his pen, lost in thought. Something would stir inside of him, and he'd shake himself out of the reverie but he'd catch himself doing it again before too long.

It didn't help that Mark seemed to enjoy toying with him. Sometimes he would text Kyle out of nowhere, making his heart pound in his chest, only to be asking about a homework assignment or something completely innocent. Other times, Kyle would open the text to something completely out of left field:

_name a movie you found completely disturbing_

Kyle would stare at the screen wondering where the hell this was coming from, and before he could respond Mark would already be sending another text:

_for me it has to be Saturday Night Fever. everyone talks about the dance scenes, but a woman was raped in the backseat of a car while John Travolta was driving. It was fucking weird._

Or sometimes he would just send song lyrics, and when Kyle would ask him why, he'd tell him there was really no reason. It was like poetry, and poetry is at its best when it's being shared, or did Kyle not agree?

_She comes out of the sun in a silk dress running_  
_Like a watercolor in the rain_  
_Don't bother asking for explanations_  
_She'll just tell you that she came_  
_In the year of the cat  
_

Kyle would never have let on, but every time Mark would do this, he'd look up the lyrics on Google, find the song they belonged to, and listen to it. Sometimes it seemed like he could get to know Mark this way, but more often than not it would just make him more confused. Most of the time, it just seemed like Mark was texting him like they were already in the middle of an involved conversation that Kyle was just being dropped into that he had to feel his way out of; like being dropped into a pitch black room and having to find the exit.

"I imagine your house is pretty crowded," Stan was saying now, pulling Kyle away from his thoughts.

"Yeah," Kyle replied, absently. "My Uncle Murray is staying for a couple of nights, and Ike has a friend staying over through the weekend. Some of my dad's colleagues stopped by for dinner, too. I had to sit at the kid's table, of course."

"Same. Have you met Shelly's mouth-breathing boyfriend yet? They met in her intro to philosophy class so that's made for some interesting conversation during dinner," Stan said.

"They've got everything figured out, right?"

"And then some. My parents are counting the hours until they leave because they're driving us all crazy. But I can't hate on them too much, as least they seem happy together." He looked down at his empty plate with a sober expression. Standing up, he reached over and took Kyle's empty plate as well. "You want another piece?"

"Nah, I'm okay, thanks," he replied. His appetite hadn't really returned entirely yet, though it had improved slightly. "I'd rather go for a walk or something. What do you think?"

"Yeah, okay," Stan responded, putting their dishes in the sink. Leaning over the table, he blew out the candles, filling the kitchen with the scent of smoke and burning cinnamon.

Grabbing their coats, they waved goodbye to Stan's parents as they passed through the living room. Randy was surrounded by beer bottles while Sharon was crocheting; looking up from the blanket she was making to glance at the halftime show every now and again. Shelly and her boyfriend were out somewhere, Kyle guessed; noticing their absence. Stepping out into the cold, he tucked his hands into his pockets and noticed that fresh snowflakes were twirling through the air. The clouds were dense and gray overhead, reminding him of dirty, saturated cotton puffs.

"It's always so eerie when you go out during a holiday like this," Stan commented as they made their way up the street. "All the parking lots are empty and there's barely any traffic. It's like the world just stops functioning for awhile."

"Mm, but it's nice, don't you think? It's refreshing being able to look around and not see people everywhere."

"I guess. It just makes me feel like the world is coming to an end but I haven't gotten the memo yet." Looking into the sky, Stan sighed a little. "Although, I'll take this over going to work tomorrow any day. I can't believe I went and got a job right before the fucking holiday season. How stupid was that?"

"It was pretty stupid, but I think it's great that you're taking initiative," Kyle said.

Another development that occurred after the Halloween Debacle was that Stan had taken it upon himself to get a job at the movie theater. He'd been fortunate enough to have off on Thanksgiving day, but was scheduled to work Black Friday, which he was dreading. Kyle couldn't blame him, and he couldn't help feeling guilty, too. He knew Stan had gotten a job for extra money, but he'd also admitted to Kyle that he needed something to focus on when Kyle was wrapped up in all of his extra responsibilities. He also suspected that Stan wanted something that would distract him from Mark's bullshit, too.

"Yeah, well, I have to start maturing sometime, right?" Stan asked, bumping into Kyle, who responded by looping his arm through Stan's.

Kyle was relieved when Stan didn't pull away. After he'd told him about Mark kissing him, Stan hadn't just withdrawn emotionally, he'd also been very hesitant about physical contact. It seemed like years had passed since their afternoon trysts in Stan's little bed, with his warm hands sliding over Kyle's skin. Stan had basically told Kyle that he just couldn't go there yet, that he needed time to work out his feelings and get his head straight. At this point, they were together, but their relationship was open.

"I can't stop you from being attracted to Mark, Kyle," Stan had said after he'd come out of his self-imposed isolation. "I don't like it, but I have to accept it. I want to split his fucking head open, of course, but I also think we should kind of slow things down."

Kyle had tried to protest but Stan had insisted. "Look, we're still together, but I want to give you the freedom to make your own choice. If it turns out that I'm not what you need or want or whatever, well, I'd rather know now rather than later."

That conversation had kept Kyle up many a night, walking the floor and hating himself for giving into a reckless impulse. He'd alternate between pining for Stan and recalling his kiss with Mark, and he'd feel torn and alone. Sometimes it felt like his life was just teetering on the edge of a chasm; no matter what choice he made he'd end up taking the wrong step and plunging to his doom. It annoyed him endlessly how angsty his life had become.

Stan's phone sounded in his pocket and pulling it out, he told Kyle that Kenny was inviting them to Stark's Pond to drink some beer he lifted from his old man.

"I'll come along but I'm not drinking," Kyle said. The snow started to pick up then, falling thickly on the road and veiling the trees. The forecast was calling for snow all through the holiday weekend, and he foresaw camping out in his house while his family drove him crazy.

"That's a shame. I was hoping to ply you with booze and take advantage of you," Stan said, smiling down at him.

"Dude, that is in such poor taste," Kyle replied. "I can't believe you just said that."

"I'm just fucking with you," Stan said, putting his arm around him and pulling him close. Kyle wanted to resist but was so glad for the contact that he gave in and leaned against him. "Besides, if we can't find humor in this kind of crap how are we supposed to keep going?"

"Good point," Kyle said. Pressing against Stan, they walked the familiar path to Stark's Pond, the world around them disappearing in a haze of snow and ice.

 ******

 The next day, Kyle was in the living room with Ike and his friend, playing video games and losing his mind from boredom. He'd been so bored that he'd volunteered to carry his PlayStation downstairs so they could all play together on the biggest TV in the house. Ike's friend, a gangling kid named Hagan, kept dying while playing Dark Souls even though Kyle had tried to tell him how difficult the game was. A monster ripped his character to shreds and Hagan almost threw the controller in frustration.

"Are you sure you don't just want to play Kingdom Hearts or something?" Kyle asked, looking up from his phone.

"It wouldn't matter," Ike said. "He'd get killed playing that game too."

"Shut up, man," Hagan said, waiting for the game to load after being killed yet again. "I'm gonna get this."

"Right," Ike replied, rolling his eyes.

"Who wants cider?" Mrs. Broflovski asked, walking out of the kitchen and drying her hands on a towel. "Oh, and there's apple sufganiyot, too."

"You know, not everything needs to be apple or pumpkin flavored around this time of the year, mom," Kyle said, standing up from the couch while Ike and Hagan rushed into the kitchen. She'd made pumpkin pancakes just that morning. There was suddenly a knock at the door.

"Oh, hush, Kyle. Go and get the door, will you?" Mrs. Broflovski said, going back to the kitchen.

Grumbling, Kyle opened the door, wincing as cold air and a drift of snow blew into the room. He was astonished to see Mark standing there, wearing a charcoal colored trench coat and dark jeans; a wine colored scarf around his neck. He seemed satisfied to see Kyle's look of surprise at his sudden appearance, and he smiled smugly.

"Hey."

"W-what the hell are you doing here?" Kyle said, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one had come into the living room. Reaching down, he grabbed his boots from beside the door, quickly slipped them on, and then stepped outside on the stoop, making sure that the door didn't shut completely behind him. Mortified, he wished that he'd taken the time to get dressed that morning, feeling at a disadvantage in his plaid pajama pants and long-sleeved black shirt. Shivering, he frowned at Mark, waiting for him to answer his question.

"Oh, I was just thinking about you, I guess," he replied, his dark hair blowing across his eyes. "Actually, I was walking home from the store and I passed the movie theater on my way. You'll never guess who I saw working the ticket window, by the way."

"I can't even imagine," Kyle said, annoyed. He knew exactly who Mark had seen but he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of saying the name out loud.

"It sucks that Stan has to work on one of the worst days of the year for customer service," Mark said, brushing the hair from his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm sure you really care," Kyle said. "Just tell me what you want, Mark; it's freezing out here."

"You want my jacket?" Mark asked, smirking. He laughed at Kyle's icy expression. "Relax, Kyle, I was just stopping by to let you know that my mom's free tomorrow for dinner."

Kyle rolled his eyes. He didn't doubt that Mark wanted to invite him over, but the only reason he'd had the balls to actually stop by his house was because Stan was out of the way. He could've thrown this in his face but he had a feeling Mark didn't give a shit about being considered transparent.

"Look, I already told you, I'm not coming over to your house for dinner. Now, get the fu-" he was abruptly cut off when the door opened behind him, and his mother was standing there peering out at them.

"Kyle, who was at the door?" Mrs. Broflovski blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light bouncing off the snow; seeing Kyle, she frowned. "Young man, what are you doing out here without a coat on? You're going to catch your death!"

"It's okay, mom. I was just-"

"Never mind that. Come inside and have some hot cider." She turned away to go inside but looked back over her shoulder. "And bring your friend, there's plenty to go around."

Kyle groaned, knowing that trying to argue with his mom was a losing battle. Glaring at Mark, he noticed that he suddenly looked very pleased with himself. Following Kyle into the house, he shut the door behind them; closing out the chill. Quickly, he made himself right at home, removing his coat and scarf and hanging them on the hall tree; revealing a cable knit navy blue sweater. They walked into the kitchen where Ike and Hagan were sitting at the table, drinking cider and laughing at something on Ike's phone. They looked up curiously when they saw Mark walking into the room behind Kyle.

"This is Mark." Kyle said, flatly. He went over to his mom who was holding out a mug to him.

"Here you go, dear," Kyle's mom said, handing a mug to Mark, too. She offered him a plate of pastries that had been sitting on the stove. "Sufganiyah?"

Mark looked at Kyle, confused; prompting Kyle to roll his eyes and sigh.

"They're basically jelly doughnuts," he said, taking one off the plate. A dusting of powdered sugar coated his fingertips.

"I tweaked the recipe a little bit, though," Mrs. Broflovski said, beaming. "They have apple in them instead of the strawberry jam we usually have."

"That sounds delicious," Mark said, picking up a pastry. He took a big bite and his eyes lit up. "That's amazing, Mrs. Broflovski! I can't believe I've gone my whole life without trying one of these!"

_I'm sure you've had a fucking doughnut before, you suck-up,_ Kyle thought to himself as his mom blushed, clearly delighted at Mark's reaction.

"Oh, you just made my day! I'll make sure to wrap up a couple for you to take home!" She bustled over to the cabinet to grab the aluminum foil. "I don't remember Kyle bringing you over before," she said as she piled sufganiyot on the sheet of foil she'd ripped off. "Are you new to town?"

"Kind of," Mark replied, settling down at the table beside Ike and Hagan. He polished off the sufganiyah and took a sip of his cider. "My family lived in the area a long time ago, but we moved away because my father got a new job in Maryland."

"Oh, the east coast, huh? My family's originally from New Jersey so we would go to Ocean City once in awhile when we didn't feel like going to Cape May or whatever," she replied, closing the foil around the pastries. She brought it over to the table and set it in front of Mark, who thanked her with a million dollar smile. Just seeing it made Kyle want to vomit. "What does your father do?"

"Oh, he's an actuary," Mark replied, substituting his usual callous attitude towards his father with one of extreme warmth. "I know this is a macabre thing to say, but he basically puts a dollar amount on people's lives." He took another sip of cider. "You have to give me the recipe for this cider, Mrs. Broflovski, it's honestly the best I've ever had."

"I'll write it up for you!" She grabbed a pen and a pad of paper from the junk drawer. "An actuary, huh? Isn't that interesting! And your mother?"

"Well, she's actually the reason I came over to see Kyle today," Mark said, smiling over at him. Kyle responded by taking an aggressive bite of his sufganiyah. "She's a general surgeon and I told her about Kyle and how he wants to be a doctor, so she'd like to meet him and maybe give him some insight into the medical field."

"Oh, isn't that just wonderful? A surgeon? Really? Oh, my goodness, Kyle, isn't that just so nice?" Mrs. Broflovski gushed, reaching over and clutching Kyle's arm like she was about to pass out from sheer joy. Kyle covertly shot Mark a look of pure anger; but Mark just kept on smiling serenely and sipping cider. "That is just so kind of your mother to go out of her way for Kyle."

"She was actually wondering if he might be available tomorrow for dinner? She was able to get the night off and she isn't going to be on call so it would be perfect," Mark said.

"Well, of course Kyle would be available tomorrow! What time? Oh, what should he bring?" She said, and Kyle's stomach sank practically into his shoes.

_This conniving asshole is unbelievable_ , he seethed inwardly.

"Dinner's at 7 and I'm sure my mother and sister would love anything he brings," Mark said. "As long as you make it," he added, winking at her.

_I'm seriously going to be sick_ , Kyle thought as his mother almost dissolved at Mark's flattery.

"You have a sister? I'm sure she can't be nearly charming as you, Mark," she said.

"Well, we're twins so she's almost as charming as I am," Mark smiled. "But not quite."

"Oh, you!" She laughed. "Kyle, where have you been keeping this boy? He is just a treasure!"

"That's it!" Kyle said tensely, setting his empty mug on the counter with a little more force than he'd intended. Everyone in the room stared at him in silence and he cleared his throat, feeling uncomfortable. "I mean, that's it for the cider, mom. I think I've had enough for the moment. Mark and I need to discuss something in my room right now, okay?" He started walking towards the living room. "Come on, Mark."

"Oh, okay. You boys go on upstairs then," Mrs. Broflovski said. "Mark, you be sure to tell me if you need anything, okay?"

"I know I'm going to need another mug of that cider before I leave, Mrs. Broflovski," Mark replied. "And the recipe of course, but I already know anything I make will pale in comparison."

Kyle's mom replied by giggling and blushing again. She called Mark a "card" and a "pistol" and shooed him out of the kitchen. Kyle was already halfway up the stairs by the time Mark caught up with him, and he slammed the door to his room once they were inside. Facing Mark, he was incensed to see him still smiling serenely, standing there like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

"What the fuck was that just now?" He asked through gritted teeth.

"What was what?" Mark asked, his eyes wide. "I can't help it if I got along with your mom, who, by the way, is just delightful. Now I see where you got your hair color from." Turning on his heel he walked around Kyle's room, running his hand along his dresser and stopping to look at the books on the bookshelf. "The Ender's Game series, huh? Why am I not surprised that you have that?" He asked. "That must mean that you probably have, yup, there it is, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy." He chortled.

"You know what I'm talking about," Kyle said, ignoring his comments. "What was that Eddie Haskell routine you just pulled on my mom down there?"

"Eddie Haskell?" Mark asked, momentarily puzzled. His eyes lit up with recognition after a moment. "Really, Kyle, a Leave it to Beaver reference? How old are you?"

"Just answer the damn question!" He yelled.

Mark slowly walked over to Kyle, and while there was nothing threatening about his demeanor, he still found himself drawing back, and he bumped into his nightstand.

"Okay, Kyle, here's an answer for you," he said, softly. "I wanted you to come to dinner because I'm trying to do something nice for you. You kept avoiding the subject so I went above you. As for the way I acted toward your mother, what can I say? I'm good with parents."

Kyle found himself caught in Mark's eyes, which at the moment were fathomless, almost like staring into the deepest, murkiest part of the ocean. He gulped and stumbled over his words, caught himself, and then tried again.

"You're not doing something nice for me. You're doing this to benefit yourself," He said. "I already told you that I didn't want to do this because of what might have happened that night. I'm not comfortable with any of this."

"Jesus, not this again." Mark ran a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated.

"It's not going to go away just because you don't like hearing about it!" Kyle snapped, the volume of his voice steadily increasing.

Mark looked at him and his serene look drained away, leaving the cold fury he could seem to adopt at a moment's notice. Within the blink of an eye, he had reached out to grab Kyle's wrist and he pulled him; causing him to stumble and almost fall. Mark caught him, and steadied Kyle on his feet.

"Remember when you fell climbing out of my bed, Kyle?" He asked, close to Kyle's ear. "I seem to recall that I caught you that time, too."

Kyle flushed and tried to pull out of Mark's grasp. "Let me go, Mark. I already told you I don't want this from you."

Mark put his hand under Kyle's chin and tipped his head back. He went to kiss him on the mouth and Kyle turned his face away; making it so Mark's lips grazed across his cheek. The contact felt like it left a trail of fire on Kyle's skin, and his body started to respond to Mark's presence. Hating himself, he willed the feelings away but they persisted; arousal burning through him the way Mark's kiss had ignited his flesh.

"You're so innocent," he said, and the smile was back on his face; effectively wiping away his rage. The abrupt change in moods frightened Kyle, more than his aggressive attempt to kiss him.

"Stan once said I was chaste," Kyle mumbled, his heart hurting at the sweet memory of Stan saying he was like a princess. Thoughts of that faraway afternoon drifted back to him and he could've cried, because everything had seemed so simple back then.

"That brings up an interesting point," Mark said, still holding Kyle but now his hand was on his hip and the other rested behind his neck. "Just how far have you and Stan gone anyway?"

"No," Kyle said, shaking his head. "I'm not going to tell you anything about what I've done with Stan."

"That's fine," Mark replied, shrugging. "It'll be better with me anyway."

Kyle could've slapped him for being so presumptuous, but in that moment he didn't feel like he had the strength. Being held like this was terrifying but it sent a thrill through him too, and every nerve in his body cried out for release; for more, so much more. Mark had to be a little over 6 feet tall and Kyle was 5'6 in his bare feet; it gave him the feeling that Mark could almost pick him up and put him in his pocket. It was like getting lost in his arms and he felt so small; so overwhelmed by the faint smell of cigarettes that clung to Mark's clothes coupled with an earthy scent that he couldn't name.

Mark leaned down and kissed Kyle's neck, making him gasp to feel his lips on his throat. Mark pulled him closer, his hand tightening on his hip, and even though he felt powerless, he tried to fight. As much as he wanted to give in, the rational part of himself just wouldn't let him.

"No, please," he whimpered while pushing against Mark, hating himself for sounding and being so weak.

 Without warning, Kyle's ringtone cut through the quiet in the room:

_She'll just tell you that she came  
In the year of the cat  
_

"Well, that sounds familiar," Mark laughed, pulling back.

 Kyle blushed furiously and scrambled to send the call to voicemail, not even bothering to check to see who was calling. He'd changed his ringtone the night Thanksgiving break started and hadn't really bothered with keeping his phone on vibrate.

"Oh, fuck off, like you're the only person on the planet that listens to that song," he said, hoping a calm voice would belie his humiliation.

 "Uh huh, right. This is just some huge coincidence. I just happened to send you the lyrics to that song a few days ago and now it's your ringtone. Give it up, Kyle. You're not fooling me."

 "Okay, I've had enough. Get the fuck out of my house, Mark," Kyle said, marching over to the door and yanking it open. "Now."

 "Hey, you're the boss," Mark replied. "I'll just stop by the kitchen and get those delicious treats from your mom and that cider recipe." He stopped on his way out the door and looked at Kyle. "In all seriousness, that's the best cider I've ever had. You better appreciate your mom, man. She's a gem."

 "Shut up and get out," Kyle barked.

 "I'm on my way. See you tomorrow at 7."

 Kyle replied by slamming the door in Mark's smarmy face, taking great pleasure in seeing him disappear.

 *****

It turned out that the call that interrupted Kyle's interlude with Mark came from Stan, letting him know that he was getting off work and asking if he'd like to go out to get something to eat. After quickly calling him back and apologizing for sending the call to voicemail, Kyle let him know that he'd meet him at Happy Burger in 15 minutes.

Walking the streets as evening was falling, the sky was that strange royal purple color that was synonymous with wintertime as far as Kyle was concerned. He could see it between patches of cloud cover, and the world had that muted quality that followed a snowfall. It was almost like being in a super insulated room, sounds might make it to your ears, but they were muffled and indecipherable. Stray snowflakes kept drifting down, and in the orange light of the streetlamps he could see snow falling steadily, but it was finer now; a sugar snow.

He made it to Happy Burger and saw Stan sitting in a corner table in the back, looking at his phone. He hadn't ordered yet and this detail made Kyle feel tender towards him. Stan was always so considerate of him, even when it came to the most mundane details.

"Hey," he said, taking the seat across from Stan and removing his hat. Shaking out his hair, he smiled to see that Stan had mostly removed his movie theater uniform but had forgotten to take the name tag off his shirt. He reached over and carefully took it off for him.

"Thanks," Stan smiled, looking a little tired. "Today was insane, dude. I never knew so many people went to the movies on Black Friday."

"Well, you've never had to think about it before," Kyle replied, carefully setting the name tag on the table next to Stan's jacket. "I'm buying since you've had a rough day. What do you want?"

"You don't have to do that."

"Trust me, I'm going to owe you one after I tell you about my day," Kyle replied.

Stan frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You need to fortify yourself first. Tell me what you want."

"Uh, I guess a cheeseburger and a strawberry shake."

"No fries?"

"Are you crazy? Of course I want fries."

"Just checking. I'll be right back." He walked over to the register and ordered, all the while aware of Stan watching him with a concerned look on his face.

Coming back to the table with a tray piled high with food, Kyle tried to assume a chipper disposition, at least on the surface.

"Here we go, one cheeseburger, one strawberry milkshake, and fries," he said, sliding the tray over to Stan. Sitting down, he unwrapped a burger for himself. "Oh, and I got an extra large Coke because I know you're going to want some, so we can share."

"You think of everything," Stan said, taking a huge bite of his burger. "Christ, this is the best thing I've ever tasted."

"I highly doubt that," Kyle said, dipping a fry in some ketchup.

Stan shrugged. "Hunger is the best seasoning, I guess."

"Fames est optimum condimentum?" Kyle asked, smirking.

"Now you're just being pretentious."

"It's a gift."

"What happened today?" Stan asked, looking at him wearily. He had nearly finished his burger already.

"I had an unexpected visitor," Kyle replied, his voice grim. "I think you can guess who it was."

"No way," Stan said, his face a mixture of surprise and annoyance. "What the fuck?"

"Right? It should come as no surprise that Mark completely charmed my mother, too. She fell for his bullshit hook, line and sinker."

"So, what'd he want?" Stan asked, pushing his uneaten fries away.

"Oh, the usual; just to manipulate the situation and my mom to his advantage. Now I'm pretty much being ordered to go over to his house for dinner tomorrow."

"I bet your mom heard the words "my mom's a surgeon" and nearly had a heart attack," Stan said.

"Yep. It didn't help that Mark was practically having an orgasm over her apple cider."

"Well, to be fair, your mom does make a kick ass cider," Stan said, raising his eyebrows.

"Stan, focus."

"Right. So, what, are you actually gonna go?"

"I don't have much of a choice," Kyle said, shrugging helplessly. "You know how my mom is. If I even think of saying no she'll destroy me and tell me how ungrateful I am. I mean, I can see why she'd want me to go and I'm actually interested in meeting Mark's mom, but still."

"I'm pretty sure the prospect of having dinner with someone who might have, you know, sexually assaulted you, is not your idea of a good time," Stan said.

"Wow, what would ever give you that idea?" Kyle asked. "I just can't get over how smooth he was about the whole thing. It seems like he always manages to get what he wants in one way or another." He set his burger down, suddenly not feeling very hungry.

"It's crazy to think that at one point you were just worried about him kicking your ass again," Stan said. "Now we're dealing with some fatal attraction level bullshit."

"His sister seems cool," Kyle said, trying to find a silver lining. "I mean, she's weird, or at least their interaction with each other is weird, but I guess that's just a twin thing."

"Why do you think he's so stuck on you?" Stan asked, leaning back in his chair and sipping his shake. He offered it to Kyle who waved it away. "It seems like overnight he just became fixated on you and he won't just take a hint and fuck off."

"I honestly don't know. All I did was tell him to shut the fuck up and stop being an asshole during tutoring, and then everything went downhill. That doesn't exactly seem like the precursor for obsession." Kyle thought a moment. "Maybe he's just lonely?"

"Could be, even though he has his sister. It's not like he's going out of his way to make friends with anyone else at school."

"Well, then, there's only one explanation, I guess."

Stan raised a questioning eyebrow; waiting for Kyle to continue.

"He's just completely fucking nuts," he said, shrugging.

"My god, why didn't I think of that?" Stan asked. "But seriously, dude, why don't you just tell your parents what we think Mark did? There's no way they'd make you go over to his house after that."

"I can't do that," Kyle replied, stubbornly. "I'd be humiliated and my mom would want all the details and then I'd have to admit that I was drinking and smoking. She'd go postal on me."

"Okay, that I can understand, but why would you be humiliated? You didn't do anything wrong; Mark did."

"Yeah, but still. If it actually happened I'd feel like such an idiot for getting myself into that situation. And, god, I don't know." He looked away.

"What?" Stan asked.

"I just feel dirty, I guess. I don't know if it makes any sense but I just feel used and like I can't stand the feeling of being inside my own skin. It's like my body doesn't belong to me anymore...if Mark actually did something to me, anyway."

Stan nodded. "Maybe you should go to counseling or something?"

Kyle shook his head. "No. I couldn't talk about this with a stranger. It's hard enough talking about all of this with you. I really just want to forget about everything, but I know that isn't an option."

"I don't know what to say, Kyle. I really have no idea how to make any of this better." He reached out and put his hand on top of Kyle's.

"I'm just happy that you didn't dump my ass completely after the whole Mark kissing me crap," Kyle said, enjoying the warmth of Stan's hand on his own.

"I want you to have space while you figure shit out, Kyle. Me pressuring you to do what I want won't help the situation. I can't say that I understand your weird attraction to Mark," he cleared his throat and looked away awkwardly, "for obvious reasons, but I'm going to have your back either way. You're my best friend, dude; not just my boyfriend."

"Listen to you getting all sappy," Kyle said, smiling. "I'm pretty sure you'll never change. Not that I'd want you to, of course. Can you do me a favor?" He asked, suddenly becoming serious.

"Anything," Stan said.

"Tomorrow, If I text you a specific word or whatever, will you call my phone and act like you're my mom saying I need to go home right away?"

"Sure, that's actually a really good idea. I'm working tomorrow night but I'll have my phone on me."

Kyle breathed a sigh of relief. "Wish me luck, I guess."

"I'll be on standby to save you if you need it," Stan grinned.

"My hero," Kyle replied, picking up Stan's milkshake and taking a long sip.

 


	8. Chapter 8

When Kyle woke up the next morning, he was almost immediately assaulted with apprehension at the thought of going to Mark's for dinner. It didn't help his mood to see a number of texts from Mark when he turned on his phone to check the time. The first text was innocent enough, containing the pass code that would open the gates to Mark's home, but the following ones were clearly meant to be provocative:

 _April come she will_  
_When streams are ripe and swelled with rain_  
_May she will stay_  
_Resting in my arms again_  
_June she'll change her tune_  
_In restless walks she'll prowl the night_

Kyle rolled his eyes at what were clearly more song lyrics, but became enraged when he read Mark's next text:

_Just in case you feel like changing your ringtone in the future._

It put him in such a bad mood that his mother made a comment when he entered the kitchen half an hour later.

"Well, you certainly look grumpy this morning, Kyle." She was at the stove tending to a skillet full of scrambled eggs.

Kyle just grunted in response. He poured himself a cup of coffee and opening the fridge, he scowled.

"You didn't buy almond milk?" He asked.

"It's in the back," she replied, lifting the skillet off the stove. "Do you want some eggs?"

Having managed to find the milk, Kyle poured some into his cup. He went and sat at the table, not answering her question.

"Well?" She asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Sure, whatever," he replied, stirring his coffee.

"I'm not sure where this attitude is coming from, but I don't appreciate it." She placed the eggs on a plate and set it in front of him, her voice firm.

"Well, I don't appreciate it when you make decisions for me," he replied, coolly. He took a bite of the eggs and made a face. Picking up the salt shaker he sprinkled some over his plate.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I didn't want to go to Mark's house for dinner, mom. But instead of asking me you just decided for me."

She sat down at the table. "I wasn't trying to make you unhappy, Kyle," she said, frowning. "Why don't you want to have dinner at his house? Don't you want to meet his mother?"

Kyle dropped his fork with a clatter and sat back, frustrated. "Yes, I want to meet her, just not like this."

"I don't understand."

"Look, I can't go into detail, okay? I just wanted you to know that I'm really not cool with this situation, so in the future can you please ask me before you just make decisions like that?"

"Well, of course, but I still want to know what you're talking about. Did something happen, Kyle?" She peered at him. "You've been acting so strangely lately and I've been waiting for you to open up, but you won't talk to me. Or your father," she added.

"Mark and I have had disagreements in the past, mom. Let's leave it at that."

"Oh? But he seemed so nice." She brightened. "Maybe he's trying to make up for everything, you know? I got the sense that he was genuinely trying to be helpful, Kyle."

Yeah, that's what he wanted you to think, Kyle thought. Looking at his mom's face he knew he was fighting a losing battle. She was the type of adult that was so taken in by polite kids that she'd never see Mark for what he was unless Kyle came right out and told her what he suspected about him. That was never going to happen, of course. He couldn't even tell her that he might be weirdly attracted to him too because then he'd have to disclose the fact that he was gay. He really wasn't ready to start unpacking that part of his life with his parents yet.

Mr. Broflovski walked into the kitchen then, dressed in a robe and slippers.

"Morning," he said, yawning.

"There's coffee," Mrs. Broflovski said, still looking at Kyle with concern. Reluctantly, she stood and picked up a plate from the counter. "Eggs, dear?"

"Yes, please. Are there any bagels?"

"No, I have some nice rye bread from the bakery, though."

"That sounds great. Could you toast it and put some butter on it for me, please?"

"Of course. Go and sit down, honey. You look exhausted."

"I am. I just can't stop going over the details of this case in my head. It doesn't help that this client is relentless," he sat down at the table heavily and looked at Kyle, who was still picking at his plate of eggs. "I hear you have an important meeting tonight."

"Yeah, I'm meeting with the board of investors," Kyle replied, taking a bite of egg. He put his fork down and pushed his plate away. His appetite was gone and there was no reviving it.

"Kyle," his mom said, a note of warning in her tone.

He sighed. "Yeah, dad, I'm going over to a friend's house tonight." He could've choked on the word "friend" but he tried to appear relaxed. On the inside he was seething with resentment and anger; coupled with a feeling of fear and abject longing.

"His friend, Mark, spoke with his mother about Kyle's wanting to be a doctor and she's interested in meeting with him," Sheila said. "She's a surgeon, Gerald." Her voice was filled with reverence.

"How exciting! Kyle, you should be thrilled," Gerald said, taking a sip of coffee.

Kyle grunted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father look quizzically at his mom; she just shrugged.

"Well, I hope you have a good time at any rate," his father continued, clearly choosing to ignore Kyle's sullen attitude. No doubt his parents would discuss it later when Kyle was out of earshot, but he wasn't going to worry about that now.

"I'm making up a trifle for him to take along," Sheila said.

"Just as long as it's not pumpkin or apple. I've had enough pumpkin and apple crap to last me until next Thanksgiving," Kyle said. He stood from the table and picked up his unfinished plate of eggs. He tipped the leftovers into the trash and put the plate in the sink with a clatter.

"Maybe you should just be grateful that your mother is trying to do something nice for you," his father said, his voice carrying the same warning tone that his mother's had just a moment ago.

Kyle fought back the urge to roll his eyes, knowing that he was already on thin ice. "Sure, right. Mom is always just trying to help me out...even when I don't ask her to. I couldn't be happier about that."

"Now, look here, young man-" his father started to say, but Mrs. Broflovski held up her hand and shook her head. Lapsing into silence, he picked up a piece of toast and tore a piece off; his face stern.

"I'm going back to bed," Kyle muttered, leaving the room. He covered his ears to make sure he wouldn't hear his parents talking about him before he was safely upstairs.

*****

Kyle set out for Mark's house a little before 6:30 that night, holding a plastic bag containing his mother's trifle. It had taken all of his powers of persuasion to convince her that he didn't need a ride.

"Mark lives just beyond Stark's Pond, mom. It's like, a 10 minute walk at most."

Her eyes had lit up and Kyle had regretted saying anything beyond "I don't need a ride. Back off."

"Oh, does he live in those estates over there? Those houses are just gorgeous!"

"Yes, mom, and I know exactly where I'm going so I'll be fine. Besides, the roads are awful. If I need anything I'll call you."

"Well, if you're sure..."

As he was leaving Ike had come downstairs to get something to eat for himself and Hagan. He'd watched Kyle put on his boots with a serious expression.

"Can I help you?" Kyle had asked, annoyed at being watched.

"You're going to that weird guy's house for dinner?"

"Yeah," Kyle replied, holding up the bag. "With mom's super awesome trifle. I'm too excited for words." He pulled his boots on and straightened up. "You think Mark is weird?" He asked, trying to feign nonchalance.

Ike had shrugged. "Yeah, a little. He seemed like he was just pretending to be nice."

Kyle thought about Ike's words now as he trudged along the snowy streets. Ike was just a kid but he'd always been unusually perceptive. When Ike said something, Kyle was usually inclined to listen to him and consider his opinion. His observation just made him feel even more uneasy about going over to Mark's. He could only hope that the inclusion of Rebecca and Dr. Cotwolds would provide enough of a buffer to keep Mark at bay.

He walked up to the ornate wrought iron gates at the end of the drive and paused. If Stan hadn't been working that night he would've seriously considered running away and over to his house. As it stood, he didn't really have anywhere else to go, and the snow was picking up making the world around him a gloomy haze. The sun had set over an hour ago, and Kyle couldn't see very far into the woods he'd passed while walking to the house's driveway, and Stark's Pond was a field of ice; its surface hard enough to stand on. South Park had been plunged into the heart of a true winter storm, and the night was unwelcoming and bitter. Kyle's teeth chattered as he punched in the pass code and he waited for the gates to open.

Thankfully, the driveway had been plowed and it wasn't too much of a struggle to make it up the path, but Kyle still felt his feet dragging with every step. Coming upon the house, the reclining dragon that it was, brought back memories Kyle would have preferred to forget. He could picture that impressive foyer and the oriental rug lying on the floor; splashes of brilliant color drenching the fibers. Unbidden, the memory (or dream?) of floating in an upstairs room, of being paralyzed, flashed through his head, and he hesitated before ringing the doorbell.

All at once, the door was opening and a flood of light fell across Kyle, illuminating the interior of the house and there was Mark, dressed in slacks and a white shirt; a lazy smile crawling across his face. The light caught the highlights in his hair (mahogany, Kyle thought idly) and he stood back, letting Kyle step inside. He reached out to brush the snowflakes off of his coat and Kyle drew back, startled by the gesture.

"Relax," Mark said. "Here, let me take your coat."

Kyle allowed him to slide his coat from his shoulders, still trying to thaw out from the chill outdoors and the apprehension making his heart pound uncomfortably fast.

"I'm glad you're here," Mark said, glancing down at the bag Kyle was carrying. "Did your mom make something for us?"

"Yes, a trifle," Kyle muttered, watching as Mark folded his coat over his arm. Following behind him, they moved through the house towards the kitchen, the familiar lights turning on automatically when they passed by. Walking into the kitchen, a delicious aroma caught Kyle by surprise.

"My mother and Becky insisted on cooking," Mark explained. "Here, set your bag down here." He directed. "Normally the housekeeper would fix dinner but they were feeling festive, I guess. We don't really have guests that often."

"Really?" Kyle asked. He set the bag on the counter and opened it, lifting the dessert out.

"Well, my mom has friends and colleagues over pretty regularly, of course." Mark said, eyeing the trifle. "That looks great, your mom really went to a lot of trouble."

Kyle opened his mouth to reply when he heard footsteps coming down the hallway.

"Mark? Is your friend here?" A tall, striking woman walked into the kitchen, her high heels hitting the floor with little clacks. Her brown hair was streaked with silver and swept into a large chignon that was ornamented with a delicate pearl comb, which matched the small pearls dotting her ears. She wore a wispy white blouse with a high collar and ruffles around the throat, and a grey pencil skirt.

"Mom, this is Kyle," Mark said, leaning on the counter.

Smiling, she came over to Kyle and extended a hand which he took shyly.

"It's so nice to meet you, Kyle. I'm Lydia Cotswolds," she shook his hand firmly. Glancing over, she seemed to notice the trifle on the counter and her eyes brightened. "Oh, did you bring something? That's just perfectly lovely!"

"My mother wanted to thank you for having me over," Kyle said. "So, she made a trifle. She said it has cream puffs, ricotta cream, fruit and -" he paused, groping for the last ingredient. His mother had talked a blue streak about the damn trifle but he had tuned her out. "Blood orange marmalade! That's it!" He said, blushing. "It's a Martha Stewart recipe, I think."

"Well, it's beautiful," she said, rotating the bowl and looking at it from every angle. "Mark told me that your mother was a great cook so I'm looking forward to trying this." She looked at Mark pointedly then. "Mark, have you offered your guest a drink yet?"

"I was just about to when you interrupted us," Mark replied. "What'll you have, Kyle?"

"Oh, whatever you have is fine," Kyle stammered.

"I'll take a sherry, Mark," Dr. Cotswolds said, going to the fridge. "Kyle, I bought this wonderful cheese platter earlier today. Would you like some?"

"Oh, sure. I mean, yes, please."

She was putting the plate of cheese on the counter when Rebecca breezed in, wearing a scarlet coat and a matching beret. She was carrying shopping bags and her face was a rosy pink.

"I might have gone a little bit overboard buying Christmas decorations, mom," she said, setting the bags down. She started unbuttoning her coat, revealing a white sweater underneath decorated with a fuzzy Christmas tree. She was also wearing faded skinny jeans and silver sequined Uggs. Noticing Kyle, she smiled warmly.

"Kyle! You actually came! I'm sure Mark is happy," she laughed, looking at her brother. Mark just rolled his eyes in response.

"What did you buy?" Their mom asked, peering into one of the bags.

"A little bit of everything," Rebecca replied, looking sheepish. "Let's go into the living room and I'll show you. You too, Kyle." She picked up the bags and dashed out of the room, leaving her coat and beret behind.

"Here, Kyle. Help yourself," Dr. Cotswolds said, offering him a plate. She picked up the crystal glass of sherry that Mark had poured for her and followed Rebecca into the living room.

"You want some wine?" Mark asked, his face deceptively serious. Kyle could tell he was trying to be funny.

"No, thanks. I know better than to drink while you're around," he said. "I'll just have some water, I guess."

"How fancy." Mark went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water and threw it over to him. "Mom also bought some crackers and stuff to go along with that cheese," he said, opening a cabinet. "Here."

"Thanks." Kyle arranged some crackers and cheese on his plate. "Why'd Rebecca seem surprised that I showed up?" He asked.

"Really, Kyle? Becky knows I've been on your ass about coming over," Mark replied, plucking a piece of cheese off of Kyle's plate instead of the platter. "Honestly, I didn't think you'd show up either."

"You're lucky I did," Kyle muttered.

"Well, thank you for gracing us with your presence," Mark laughed, taking another piece of cheese off of Kyle's plate.

"Dude, get your own! It's literally right there!" Kyle snapped, snatching his plate away.

"Honestly, Kyle, I am glad that you came over tonight," Mark said. Looking at Kyle, his eyes were dark brown and serious. Coming around the counter, he stepped closer to him and reached up, brushing a thumb across Kyle's lower lip before he could move away. "I'm not always trying to mess with you, you know. I'd like to help you, if I can."

Kyle flushed and stared into Mark's eyes, feeling frozen in place. He wasn't used to Mark being nice like this and, in fact, his behavior reminded him of Stan's. A fleeting moment of tenderness overcame him, and he had to will himself to look away. "Help me? Right, I'll believe that when I see it. So far, you've just gotten off on seeing me in uncomfortable situations."

"Can I help it if you're cute when you're flustered?" Mark asked, reaching down and settling a hand on Kyle's hip. He gripped him gently. "Like right now, for example? You're blushing."

"No, I'm not! Let go of me!" Kyle went to push him away when Rebecca walked into the room; she sized up the situation pretty quickly, too.

"Are you guys coming or what?" She asked, smiling knowingly and crossing her arms. "Mom is excited to play her Carpenters Christmas album for everyone."

"Yeah, we'll be there in just a second," Mark said, letting go of Kyle reluctantly. Kyle just looked down at his plate of cheese, his face burning.

"Right," she said, smirking and turning to leave.

"Well, let's go join the fun, shall we?" Mark asked, putting his arm around Kyle and ushering him out of the kitchen.

Why didn't I run away into the woods when I had the chance? Kyle thought as he pushed Mark's arm off of his shoulder.

******

 _Merry Christmas Darling_  
_We're apart that's true_  
_But I can dream and in my dreams_  
_I'm Christmasing with you_

"Oh, I just love her voice," Dr. Cotswolds sighed as she sipped her sherry; her expression dreamy and faraway. She sat on a plush white couch as Rebecca went through the shopping bags, showing her what she'd bought. Soon, layers of garland and tinsel and ornaments were strewn all across the living room, and she hadn't even emptied all the bags yet. Karen Carpenter's silken voice emanated from the Bose speakers, filling the room.

"I thought we could do a theme for the tree this year," Rebecca was saying as she pulled out boxes of Christmas lights. "I was thinking white lights on the tree, and a bunch of stags in different designs." She lined up tiny reindeer on the floor, all delicately constructed from colorful metals; pretty soon there was a rainbow of them laid across the carpet.

"Oh, what a fun idea!" Her mother said, leaning forward and placing her glass on the coffee table. "Mark, honey, what do you think?" She asked, standing from the couch and coming to sit on the floor beside Rebecca. She held up a silver stag and it glowed orange, reflecting the fire burning merrily in the fireplace behind them.

Mark was sitting in a rose-colored wingback chair, with his legs crossed and his chin propped on his hand. He was watching the scene in front of him with a passive expression while sipping a glass of wine. Kyle was amazed when Dr. Cotswolds didn't scold him for drinking alcohol, but she really didn't seem to mind.

"I really don't have an opinion about how we decorate the tree, mom," he said, mildly. "You seem to forget that I never do."

"I was hoping you'd be more interested this year," she replied, picking up a crystal stag. It too caught the light of the flames, dazzling Kyle's eyes.

"Sorry to disappoint you," he said, taking another long drink. "And I'm pretty sure Kyle doesn't care either. I mean, he is Jewish and all."

"No, it's fine!" Kyle said, feeling awkward. "I mean, it sounds like a nice idea." He smiled at Dr. Cotswolds. He picked up a tiny porcelain snowman and looked at it with feigned interest. It was pretty clear that Rebecca and her mother were the type of Christmas enthusiasts who wanted to start decorating as soon as the Thanksgiving table was cleared, and he could accept that, even if he didn't necessarily understand it. He'd been dealing with Christmas enthusiasm since he was a child and at this point he was pretty indifferent to the excessive amounts of cheer.

"Thank you for indulging me, Kyle, even if Mark won't," she smiled, rifling through another shopping bag. In the kitchen a buzzer went off, and she set the bag aside.

Standing, she looked at Mark with her eyebrows raised. "I realize I can't get you to be excited about Christmas but can I talk you into setting the table, at least?"

"Anything for you, mother," he said, draining the last of the wine from his glass. "Coming, Kyle?"

"He can stay here with me," Rebecca interjected, setting up the pieces of an elaborate nativity scene on the huge mantle over the fireplace.

"Is that so? Did you want to help Becky set up the birth of Jesus Christ, Kyle?"

"Sure, why not?" Kyle replied, defiantly. He picked up a wise man. "Just show me where this goes."

"Whatever," Mark said, rolling his eyes and leaving the room looking irritated.

"He's been acting so weird lately," Rebecca said, pointing to a place on the mantle where Kyle placed the wise man.

"How can you tell?" Kyle asked. He winced. "Sorry, I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

 _Yes, I did_ , he thought, but he didn't want to offend Rebecca after she'd always been so pleasant towards him.

"Well, for starters, you're the first person he's ever invited over for dinner," she said, "which is already crazy, but he's never even considered inviting someone to meet our mom. Here, help me unravel these lights so I can plug them in to make sure they work."

Kyle dutifully helped her untangle the lights and stretch them across the floor towards an outlet. Plugging them in, she smiled with satisfaction when they glowed a soft white.

"I don't think it's that strange. I mean, I told Mark that I want to be a doctor and he mentioned it to your mom. It wasn't anything too out of the ordinary," Kyle said, helping her untangle another strand of lights.

"Trust me, just the fact that he even remembered you telling him that was out of the ordinary," she replied. She picked up a glass mug and took a sip. "Mmm, there's nothing better than eggnog spiked with rum at this time of year."

"Your mom is really cool about you two drinking around her," he remarked.

"Mom picks her battles. Besides, she knows that Mark and I would never be stupid enough to get loaded and then get in the car," she replied, taking another drink. "She's a lot more relaxed about this stuff than our dad, thank god."

"Mark mentioned he was kind of a control freak."

"That's putting it mildly," she said.

Kyle was silent for a time, watching her opening boxes of ornaments and organizing decorations. In addition to the bags she'd brought home, there were numerous other boxes in the living room, no doubt full of Christmas paraphernalia. "So, does Mark have any friends?" He finally asked.

She looked at him, her face thoughtful. "No, not really," she said. "Then again, he really doesn't want any either."

"Then why did he invite me over?" Kyle asked.

"That's a great question, Kyle. Honestly, I'm really not sure, although, he did tell me about you yelling at him during tutoring." She grinned. "Oh, to have been a fly on the wall for that one, by the way. No one's ever really stood up to him like that before."

"Not even you?"

"Well, yeah, I have. Sometimes, anyway," she said, clearing her throat. "I can see how that would pique his interest, but to go out of his way for you like this; he just doesn't do stuff like that. I know my brother like the back of my hand, and even I can't figure out why he's acting like this." Gazing at him, she shrugged. "I guess you're just a special snowflake or something."

"And what are you, a manic pixie dream girl?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah, a regular Holly Golightly, that's me." She did a mock curtsy. "At your service, Sir Snowflake."

"You're as demented as he is," Kyle said, laughing.

"Dinner's ready," Mark said, standing in the doorway and watching them with a dark expression. "If you guys are still interested." He turned around and left.

"Ooh, we get a side of jealousy with our dinner, Kyle. Now I really can't wait," Rebecca said, and she hooked her arm through his, just like she was always doing with Mark at school. "I hope you brought your appetite for bullshit."

"I always do," Kyle said.

*****

Seating himself at the long cherry wood table in the dining room, an increased sense of intimidation washed over Kyle as he took in his surroundings. The living room had been impressive, of course, with a vaulted ceiling and floor to ceiling windows that looked out on the frosty trees and expansive grounds, but the dining room was a horse of a different color entirely. On every wall were forest scenes with people in medieval dress, and a unicorn in the process of being pursued and captured.

"Salad, Kyle?" Dr. Cotswolds asked, pulling his focus away from the walls. She was holding a tray with small plates of greens on it.

"Oh, yes, please," he replied, feeling awkward. She set a plate in front of him and he wondered why she didn't have a servant doing this instead; they clearly had the money to afford one. Or several, really. She laid the tray on the sideboard and seated herself at the head of the table.

"Okay, you guys, dig in," she instructed, picking up a fork. "I made that endive salad with the pears and Gorgonzola because you seemed to like it the last time we had it."

"Please tell me you put walnuts in it, too," Rebecca said, spearing a piece of lettuce with her fork.

"Please tell me you didn't," Mark said, looking at his plate closely.

"I didn't put any on yours, Mark. Calm down. Kyle, I didn't put any on yours either in case you have a nut allergy."

"Oh, thanks. I don't, but thank you," Kyle said, bashfully. Taking a bite, he was taken aback by how delicious the cheese and pears were together. He found himself gazing at the forest scenes on the walls as he ate his salad.

"Do you like the murals, Kyle?" Dr. Cotswolds asked, sipping her sherry.

"They're interesting," he replied. "And a little disturbing. It's weird seeing a bunch of people stabbing at a unicorn with spears."

"My mother commissioned these murals a very long time ago," Dr. Cotswolds explained. "They're a replication of the Unicorn Tapestries that were woven, gosh," she thought a moment, "over six hundred years ago, I believe?" She set her glass down and took another bite of salad, chewing thoughtfully. "She fell in love with the original tapestries when she worked as a curator at The Cloisters in New York City."

"Wow, how long did it take to paint all of these?" Kyle asked, looking around. Each of the scenes were at least 7 feet tall, if he had to guess; although he was a horrible judge when it came to dimensions.

"The better part of a decade," she replied. "They were a wedding gift from my father to be more specific. After they were married, he told her that she could redecorate the house anyway she wanted, and she started with this room and these murals. I guess it was a way of bringing a part of her old life along with her." She finished her salad and laid her fork across her plate. "I was born near the tail-end of their construction actually, and as I grew up I learned to love them as much as my mother did."

"I think they're bizarre," Mark said, finishing up his salad as well. "Look at the lion's faces in the fountain scene. It makes me wonder if they ever actually saw a lion in real life."

"I wouldn't be surprised if they hadn't," his mother replied. "Maybe they heard stories from people who traveled to faraway lands and saw these fantastic animals and brought the tales home with them. I'm sure they had to let their imaginations do a lot of the work. We do the same thing with dinosaurs nowadays, don't we? We'll never actually see them, so all we can do is speculate and wonder."

"I think it's a little more involved than that," Mark said. "Scientists have a lot more to work with than just imagination and conjecture."

"Yes, of course, but still," she looked up at the murals and a wistful look passed over her face. "There's something to be said for man's ability to imagine whole new worlds and creatures."

"I'm sorry, Kyle. I'm afraid you've caught our mother in one of her more whimsical moods," Mark said, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, leave her alone, Mark. Not everyone is as stodgy as you are," Rebecca spoke up, pushing away from the table. "I love these paintings as much as you do, mother. Here, let me help you bring in the next course."

"Thank you, dear. Kyle, are you finished?"

"Yes, thank you," he said. "Do you need help? I can clear the plates away."

"Of course not. You're a guest, Kyle. You stay right there and we'll be right back." She smiled and gathered the plates onto the tray. Rebecca followed her out of the room, leaving Kyle alone with Mark.

Reaching out, Mark pushed a glowing candelabra aside, making it so he could see Kyle clearly. "You'll have to excuse her," he said. "My mother lapses into these moods when she isn't working. I guess she likes being able to turn off the doctor part of her brain when she has a chance. Not that she's ever completely able to."

"I don't know. I think being clinical and imaginative go hand in hand when it comes to being a doctor," Kyle said, toying with his water glass. "It's not like I really have anything to base this on, but I imagine the human body and medicine have just as much gray area as anything else."

"That's fair, but she just gets so stuck on things like this," Mark replied, gesturing at the walls. "My father never understood it either. In fact, it may be the one thing we actually have in common."

"I think you understand it way more than you realize," Kyle argued. "What do you think you're doing when you look at the stars? How is that different than looking at a painting?"

"We can actually learn things from the stars and the universe that we can apply to life on earth, Kyle," Mark scoffed. "It's not even remotely the same."

"Now I just think you're being contrary just for the sake of being contrary," Kyle said. "Which leads me to believe being difficult is just the cornerstone of your personality."

"Well, if isn't the pot calling the kettle black," Mark replied. "But at least it makes for interesting conversation, right? Special snowflake?" He snickered.

Kyle blushed. "Listening in on other's people's conversations is in exceedingly poor taste, Mark."

"I never said I had good taste, Kyle," he replied, smiling. "Besides, you guys were talking about me. I have the right to hear what you have to say if you're going to be tasteless and talk about me behind my back."

Kyle looked away in irritation. Having a conversation with Mark was like a tennis match, and he never seemed to win when it came to verbal sparring. He had to admit that Mark kept him on his toes and it could be exciting, but sometimes it was just tiring. He was grateful when Dr. Cotswolds and Rebecca returned, each carrying a tray.

"So, mom and I agreed on Shepherd's Pie for tonight," Rebecca said as she put Kyle's plate in front of him. A pile of mashed potatoes, vegetables, and meat were swimming in a fragrant sauce, and he realized this was what he smelled when he first entered the kitchen. His mouth watered in anticipation.

"Well, I guess we should really be calling it cottage pie, right?" Her mother asked, raising an eyebrow. "We used beef instead of lamb, after all." She glanced at Kyle. "I'm sorry if you like it, dear, I've just always found lamb to be a little too gamy for my tastes."

"Let's overlook the semantics here and just eat," Mark said, exasperated. "It smells wonderful and I'm sure it tastes wonderful, regardless of what meat you used."

After everyone was seated, Kyle took a bite of his food and almost melted it tasted so good. "This is delicious, Dr. Cotswolds," he said, taking another bite.

"Oh, please, Kyle. Call me Lydia," she replied, smiling. "And thank you, I'm very pleased that you like it."

"Excuse me, but are you forgetting someone?" Rebecca chimed in, feigning extreme annoyance. "Let's not forget that this was a combined effort, okay?"

"Of course. It's great, Rebecca," Kyle said.

"You don't have to stroke her ego," Mark said. "Believe me, she has that covered."

"Look who's talking," Rebecca replied, swatting at her brother playfully. "You are truly the most annoying person on the planet."

"What an honor."

"Children," Dr Cotswolds said in a mild voice. "There's no need to argue about this when you're both equally annoying." She turned to Kyle. "So, Kyle, Mark tells me you want to be a doctor someday."

Kyle swallowed a mouthful of mashed potatoes and nodded. "Yes, ever since I was little."

"That's just wonderful. Is there any branch of medicine that interests you in particular?"

"Well, right now I'm interning at a urology practice and that's been pretty enlightening," he replied.

"You know, I always really enjoyed meeting with urologists during clinical rotations when I was a student," she said. "They always seemed to have the best sense of humor, but I guess that just comes with the territory. Which practice are you working for?"

"Well, I mainly help out Dr. Boyle," Kyle said, stabbing a carrot and bringing it to his mouth.

"Karen?" She asked. "Oh, she's the best, and her work in aesthetics is fascinating. From what I understand, people from all over the world come to her for consultations."

"Yes, we had a man make an appointment last month who lived in Australia. He was interested in having a vasectomy reversal."

"Now there's some meticulous surgery," Dr. Cotswolds said. She turned to her children. "You know, they practice with mouse veins to replicate the tiny sutures they have to use."

Rebecca looked a little squeamish at this bit of information. "That's great, mom." She set her fork down.

"Rebecca, you used to love pretending to be a doctor," her mother said.

"And playing it too," Mark said, grinning. "Mom, Kyle is the same kid that played doctor with Becky back before we moved away."

"Oh, I thought you looked familiar," she laughed. "As you can see, Rebecca doesn't have the same aspirations she used to."

"I'm sure you'll learn to love me anyway," Rebecca said. "Besides, people change, mom. Kind of like when you decided to divorce daddy and move us back here of all places." She smiled sweetly.

"Here we go," Mark said, setting his fork down with a clatter.

"I really don't want to have this conversation right now," Dr. Cotswolds said, pinching the bridge of her nose, her eyes shut tight.

"I'm just saying, if you want to criticize me, I can at least level the playing field; it's only fair," Rebecca said, tearing a roll apart and popping a piece in her mouth.

"I wasn't criticizing you, sweetheart. I was just saying that your goals are different now, and that's okay." Her mother said, softly. In the following silence, she took a drink of sherry.

"I have to use the bathroom, excuse me," Rebecca muttered, pushing herself away from the table and standing up. She left the room quickly.

Dr. Cotswolds sighed. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Kyle," she said, putting her fork down slowly. "I guess we're all still getting used to our new circumstances."

"I'm not. I couldn't wait for you to divorce that asshole," Mark said, matter-of-factly.

"Mark!" His mother exclaimed, her face shocked. She pushed her chair back and picked up her napkin from her lap; she dabbed at her lips while giving her son a look of disapproval. "You know I don't like to hear you say things like that about your father. And, really, in front of a guest? Where are your manners?"

"I guess I don't have any unless dad is here to threaten me with bodily harm," he replied, sneering.

"Oh, Mark," she said, looking down at the table. In the light being cast from the candles she looked very young, the faint lines by her eyes and mouth smoothed away. Kyle felt acutely uncomfortable in that moment, and he didn't know where to look so he just kept his eyes down.

"Mark, I know you and your father have a," she paused, "difficult relationship, but please, as a personal favor to me, don't say things like that where I can hear you. Your father had some habits that I found repulsive, and I still do, but what good is it to badmouth him? Does it make you feel better?"

"Yeah, it does, actually," he replied, his tone flippant. "But, fine, I'll try not to talk shit about him in your presence, okay? I can't say that I'll always be successful but I'll make a concerted effort." His face split into a big fake smile.

"Thank you, and please, can you knock it off with the cursing? There are so many better words you could use." She rubbed her forehead and took a sip of water.

Kyle put his fork down on his plate as quietly as possible, so as not to call attention to himself, but in the silence a metallic _ting_ could still be heard. Dr. Cotswolds glanced at him, her brow furrowed.

"I can't apologize enough for myself and my children," she said. "We've put you in a very awkward position and it's just unforgivable."

"No, it's okay, I promise!" Kyle stammered, feeling his face become hot. Little beads of sweat had risen on his forehead, and he hoped no one had noticed. "My family argues all the time. I mean, I'm pretty sure every family argues every now and then, so really, it's no big deal." Nervously, he fumbled for his napkin and wiped his mouth to get himself to stop rambling.

"That's a fair statement, I suppose," she said, smiling a little. "What did Tolstoy say about happy families being all alike, but every unhappy family being unhappy in its own way? I guess there's a truth to that, and more unhappy families than happy ones."

"Mom, we aren't unhappy. Becky is just too sensitive sometimes and I'm a jerk, so lighten up," Mark said.

"I'll try, son," she said, wryly. "I'm going to go see about your sister. It always takes her forever to calm down after we have a disagreement." She rose from her place and looked apologetically at Kyle.

"I'm so sorry our conversation was interrupted, Kyle," she said.

"Please, don't apologize, Dr. Cotswolds. I just appreciate you having me over for dinner, really," Kyle said, deciding not to call her by her first name. His parents were so strict about things like that that he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Well, I'll go smooth things over with Rebecca," she sighed. "Hopefully we can all come back together for that lovely dessert your mother made for us. If you'll excuse me, please." She left the room, her high heels clacking on the wood floor. Mark and Kyle sat in silence until the sound faded away.

Mark sighed, running his hands through his hair. "I've pretty much lost my appetite," he said, pushing his plate away. "How about you?"

Kyle laid his napkin on the table and nodded. "Yeah, I'm done. It was delicious, though," he added, trying to be positive. Based on Mark's humorless expression, he doubted it made much of a difference. His face hadn't taken on that hard quality that usually meant he was angry, but Kyle could see that they were moving in that direction. Jumping up, he grabbed his plate.

"Come on, I'll help you clear away the dishes. It's only fair that we clean, since your mother and sister cooked." He started gathering plates and silverware.

Groaning, Mark stacked Becky's plate on top of his own and stood. "I hate doing the dishes," he said. "Of course my mom had to go and give the help the weekend off because of Thanksgiving." Together, they loaded a tray with cutlery and china, which Mark hefted into the kitchen, Kyle in tow. Setting it down, Mark just stood there until Kyle sighed and started rolling up his sleeves.

"I'll rinse everything off and you load the dishwasher, okay?"

"Fine, whatever you say," he replied, eyeing the dirty articles with distaste.

As they worked, Kyle tried to find something he could say that would help ease the tension, but everything seemed wrong. They worked in an uneasy silence until Mark finally spoke.

"You know, all things considered, that family dinner went better than most."

"Oh?" Kyle asked, rinsing a plate.

"Before they got divorced, my parents would argue every time we all ate together; especially near the end." He took the plate Kyle handed him and placed it in the dishwasher rack.

"It's really nice that your mom doesn't criticize your father in front of you," Kyle said.

"You think so? It really annoys me, actually," he replied.

"Why?"

"Mainly because he always finds a reason to shit talk her," he said, an edge in his voice. "My father doesn't mind telling us what he thinks of her every chance he gets."

"Well, at least one of your parents can be mature."

"I guess, but just once I would really like to see her unload on him. Of course, Becky would have a problem with that, but dammit, her loyalty is severely misplaced."

"I thought your mother and sister got along pretty well," Kyle said, puzzled.

"They do, most of the time, but my sister is still looking for my dad's approval for whatever reason, and no matter how much I argue with her about it she won't change." The anger was showing up on his face now, just as Kyle expected it would. "It's the one thing we just can't see eye to eye on, and I hate it."

Having finally finished the dishes, Mark pour himself a glass of wine. "They're going to take forever, I can already tell. Let's go smoke."

"No way," Kyle replied, flatly. "Maybe I should just go."

"No," Mark said, reaching out and grabbing his wrist. Kyle winced as his strong fingers pressed into his skin. Seeing this, Mark loosened his grip, but slightly. "Please, don't go. I could really use someone to talk to."

Kyle studied his face, not sure what to do. Mark was clearly out of sorts but he just didn't trust him, and smoking was absolutely out of the question. A pang of sympathy plucked at him though, and he relented. "Fine, I'll stay, and you can smoke, but I'm not doing it; end of discussion."

"Okay, okay. You don't want to smoke, I get it. Come on."

Reluctantly, Kyle followed Mark as he took the familiar path to his room, up a curving staircase and down a long hallway lined with family portraits and oil paintings. Kyle could feel his anxiety growing with each step, but he fought it back by reminding himself that they weren't alone this time; that somewhere in that massive house Mark's mother and Rebecca could hear him if he needed them to. He was also aware of his phone in his back pocket, knowing that Stan would come to help him with just a word; that thought comforted him.

Stepping into Mark's room again was disquieting, and he took note of the few things he could remember from his last visit; the fish tank bubbling in the corner, the huge bed, and the doors leading to the balcony and the bathroom. Kyle also noticed that the telescope that was originally sitting outside had been brought into the room, no doubt to protect it from a relentless South Park snowstorm.

"Hey, can you look outside and see if the storm has died down at all? My mom is pretty lax about drinking, but she'll kill me if I try to smoke inside."

Kyle nodded, ignoring his impending panic. Walking across the room he opened up the door to the balcony and stepped outside. The snow had stopped for a time, leaving behind a chilled stillness devoid of sound, save for Kyle's crunching footsteps as he stepped into the snow. It had developed a delicate icy crust that cracked as he put his weight on it. Stars were scattered where there were breaks in the cloud covering, and they too had seemed to take on a glacial quality.

"It's okay out here," Kyle called over his shoulder while crossing his arms tightly across his chest. "It's just cold as balls."

Mark had thrown on a hoody before joining Kyle on the balcony, and he offered him one as well. As he pulled it on, Kyle could hear the telltale click of Mark's lighter. When he could see again, Mark had already brought the blunt to his lips and was inhaling deeply.

"Are you sure you don't want any?" He asked, a stream of smoke escaping his mouth.

Kyle shook his head. "I'm not smoking with you, Mark. Give it a rest."

Mark shrugged and took another hit. "Suit yourself. You don't know what you're missing, though."

"I can live with that," he replied.

"Thanks for staying, by the way," Mark said. "Stuff with my father always makes me feel like I'm losing my mind."

"You're welcome, although I don't know how I can really help."

"You're helping just by listening to me complain," Mark replied. "This is a subject I can't even discuss with Becky, so I usually just have to try and ignore it. Wait, hold on." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, the display lighting up his face.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"What? What happened?" Kyle asked, alarmed at the anger in Mark's voice.

"Here, read this and see for yourself," Mark seethed, handing him the phone.

Kyle looked at the screen and saw that it was a text from Mark's dad:

_Tried to reach your sister but she didn't pick up. I texted her too but I wanted to make sure that she got my message. Please let her know that I have to cancel her visit next weekend; something came up. Happy Thanksgiving, by the way._

"Wow, that's cold," Kyle murmured, handing the phone back.

"And this is after he told Becky that he wouldn't be available on Thanksgiving for her to visit. That fucking guy, I swear to god," Mark said, his voice loaded with cold fury. "This is going to crush her, but of course my dad would put the responsibility of actually telling her face to face in my lap."

He finished off the joint in one long, aggressive drag and stubbed it out on the snow covered railing of the balcony. "God, for two fucking cents I would destroy that guy, Kyle; for two lousy goddamn cents." He wiped a hand quickly across his eyes and Kyle could see that his face wasn't just furious, he could see misery etched there as well.

"Sometimes it just gets to be too much, you know? It wasn't enough that he terrorized us when we lived with him, but he can still treat us like shit when he's over 4 hours away. It's amazing."

"If there's anything I've noticed it's that a genuine asshole doesn't change regardless of their location or circumstances," Kyle said, thinking briefly of Cartman.

Mark turned away so Kyle couldn't see his face, and he thought he heard him let out a shuddering breath, but he couldn't be sure. Timidly, he stepped over to him and put his hand on his shoulder.

"Mark? Are you okay?"

In a flash, Mark turned around and pulled Kyle into a bone-crushing hug, taking him completely by surprise. He held him tightly against his chest, one of his hands tangling in his hair. Kyle could hear him breathing heavily, and for a moment he was so focused on that sound and his own shock that he couldn't respond. Coming to his senses, he weakly tried to push him away.

"What are you doing? Let go of me," he said, his nose filling with the scent of weed and cold air, coupled with Mark's earthy aroma that called to mind visions of green forests and rainfall.

"No, Kyle, please. I just need to be close to someone; to you. Please," Mark said softly against his ear, his warm breath making him shiver as much as the cold night air.

Kyle could feel himself relaxing in his arms despite himself, and trembling, he wrapped his arms around Mark as well. Mark took this as an invitation to kiss Kyle's temple and down along his jawline, until finally reaching his mouth. He kissed him roughly on his lips, his tongue aggressively licking his bottom lip and delving into his mouth, making Kyle moan deep in his throat. Mark's hand remained tangled in Kyle's hair, but his other arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him close.

Vaguely, Kyle could feel himself being backed through the door to Mark's room, his mind awash with desire; making him feel hazy and heavy in Mark's arms. It was like they were melting together, and his body was burning to be touched; to be taken. He felt the backs of his legs bump against something and turning, he saw that he was standing right next to Mark's bed, and he allowed himself to be pushed back onto the mattress. He lay there, looking up at Mark and feeling intoxicated, and he watched as Mark pulled of his hoody and threw it to the floor. He unbuttoned the white shirt beneath and took that off as well.

Mark knelt on the bed, straddling Kyle and reaching for his wrists, which he pulled upward, placing them on either side of his head. Gripping them, he leaned down and kissed Kyle's mouth again, sliding his tongue down over his bottom lip, along his jaw, and down to his throat, where he kissed his neck and nipped the skin lightly with his teeth. Kyle jumped at the sensation.

"It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you." He smiled, squeezing Kyle's wrists tighter. "I promise."


	9. Chapter 9

**You're gonna see me, in your dreams tonight**  
**My face is gonna haunt you all the time**  
**I promise that you're gonna want me back**  
**When your world falls apart, like shattered glass**

**-Shattered Glass, Britney Spears**

********

**Ah, when to the heart of man**  
**Was it ever less than a treason**  
**To go with the drift of things,**  
**To yield with a grace to reason,**  
**And bow and accept the end**  
**Of a love or a season?**

**-Reluctance by Robert Frost**

*********

 There were hands holding his wrists; strong hands squeezing the skin there. Feeling drunk, he tasted someone's lips on his own, and their flavor was a mixture of smoke and wine; feverish lips that kissed him with an aggressive need that almost scared him. His body was pressed deeply into the mattress, and when he dared to open his eyes he could see flashes of dark hair and lightly tanned (olive?) skin, and somewhere inside of his desire-saturated brain Kyle wondered what Stan was doing in that moment.

Memories of Stan's late-afternoon bedroom came to him as Mark sucked gently on his neck, the sensation making him writhe and turn his head; his cheek cushioned by the comforter. Rapid-fire images assaulted his mind and he could see Stan looking at him, his eyes tender, with his room flooded in hazy sunshine; his face taking on that look it always got when he touched Kyle in a certain way and he was waiting for his reaction. In contrast, Mark's face was deluged with a primal aggression, almost like he was hungry for something he'd never had the chance to taste.

"Sit up for me," he was saying now while sliding back. Still holding his wrists, Mark pulled him up and letting him go, reached down and deftly pulled off Kyle's hoody. Throwing it aside, he began to unbutton Kyle's light blue shirt, his fingers lingering on every button like he was unwrapping a gift to himself. He was halfway done when he looked into Kyle's eyes and he dropped his focus to the pale skin he had exposed. He placed a fingertip on Kyle's mouth and surprising even himself, Kyle kissed it and licked it lightly with his tongue. Mark's eyes widened and he smiled.

"I knew you weren't shy," he said, his voice low. He dragged the finger Kyle had licked down his throat and chest, stopping where his shirt was still buttoned. Quickly, he undid those buttons too and parted Kyle's shirt, slipping it off his shoulders and partially down his arms. Standing up, Mark looked down at him and Kyle, leaning back on his hands with his shirt open and pushed back, had to look away, realizing he was exposed and panting from the things Mark was doing to him.

"I have to say I like you like this, Kyle," Mark said, and he undid his belt buckle as he spoke. He unbuttoned his pants and unzipped them, and he pulled the belt off, folding it in half and pulling it taut. Nudging his leg in between Kyle's, he pushed his legs apart. "There, that's better," he said, softly. Pushing one end of the belt into the buckle, he pulled it until a reasonably sized loop was left, and he slowly placed it over Kyle's head and around his throat.

"W-what are you doing?" Kyle asked in a trembling voice.

"Oh, it's just a game I like to play," Mark said, pulling the belt so it slowly tightened around Kyle's neck. The soft leather felt strange on Kyle's skin but he was so caught up in Mark's spell that he didn't fight against its presence. "Like I said, I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to show you a few things. Is that okay?"

Kyle nodded slowly, and he could feel the belt tighten again. Mark pulled it a little tighter as he kissed Kyle's lips, and his hand drifted down to settle on the front of his pants. Kyle shifted when Mark touched him there, and that's when Mark pulled the belt tight enough so that it was biting into his skin; enough that for a moment it was hard for Kyle to breathe. He became still and Mark loosened the pressure, his hand still on Kyle's crotch.

"Do you see how this works?" Mark asked.

Kyle nodded slightly and he went to touch the belt circling his throat. Mark tightened it again and he stopped. He placed his hand back on the bed and he looked up at Mark, his eyes wide and his heart pounding wildly. He was also aware that he was becoming more aroused every time Mark cinched the belt tighter.

A knock came at the door and Kyle was so startled he pulled against the belt. Mark yanked on it softly and pulled Kyle towards him.

"Be quiet and I'll handle this, okay?" He whispered.

Kyle just nodded again while trying to pull his shirt closed. Mark rolled his eyes.

"Relax, Kyle. I locked the door." Still holding the belt, he looked at the door. "What?" He shouted.

"It's me, honey," Dr. Cotswolds said, her voice floating into the room. "Rebecca and I are making some coffee and I thought we could have some of the dessert Kyle brought with him."

Mark sighed irritably and he looked at Kyle, his eyes narrowed. After a moment, he turned to the door again.

"Okay, fine. We'll be down in just a second," he called.

"Okay, darling," she replied. "I'll make up a couple of bowls for you two."

They both listened as her footsteps faded away down the hall. With noticeable reluctance, Mark loosened the belt and slipped it off of Kyle. Tossing it aside, he smiled at him. "I guess we'll have to come back to this, huh?"

Kyle was buttoning up his shirt with shaky hands, and he didn't know what to say. What could you say after doing something like that for the first time? "I'm not even sure what just happened," he finally choked out. "I can't believe I let you do that," he added, rubbing the skin on his neck. It was almost like the belt was still there.

"Neither can I, actually," Mark replied. "But you never know what you like until you try it, right?" He was buttoning up his shirt too.

"I don't know if I really liked that, though," Kyle said.

"Oh, you did, Kyle. You should've seen your face."

Kyle gave him a dirty look. "Why do I keep letting you get to me like this? I feel like I've lost my fucking mind."

Mark shrugged. "I'm not sure. Maybe you have? At the very least you're finally letting yourself live a little bit."

Kyle grunted, annoyed. Something Mark had said came back to him. "You said that's a game you like to play, right? Are you telling me you've done this crap before?"

"Oh, yeah. Tons of times," Mark replied, rising from the bed. He extended a hand to Kyle to help him up.

"Who the hell have you done that with?" Kyle asked, incredulous.

"I'm pretty sure that doesn't matter," Mark said, his tone dismissive. "Come on, let's go before Becky comes up here and drags us downstairs."

*****

When they entered the kitchen, there were two bowls of trifle waiting on the counter for them just like Dr. Cotswolds had promised.

"Kyle, would you like some coffee?" She asked, gesturing at a full pot that was filling the room with its dark fragrance.

"No, thank you," Kyle said. "If I drink that now I'll never get to sleep tonight." He noticed that Dr. Cotswolds had let her hair down, and it fell in waves to her shoulders. Rebecca's hair had been tied back into a loose bun on top of her head, tiny curls escaping here and there. It was damp and she was wearing a white robe, and Kyle guessed she had taken a shower to help her calm down.

"Mark," she said, "I made you an Irish coffee." She handed a glass mug to her brother containing coffee topped with a thick crown of cream. Taking a sip, Mark offered the cup to Kyle.

"Here, try it. Becky makes a perfect Irish coffee," he said.

Curious, Kyle accepted the mug and took a sip, the warm, sweet coffee swirling into his mouth along with the airy cream. He knew that there was alcohol in an Irish coffee but he figured one little drink wouldn't hurt.

"That's delicious," he said, handing the mug back to Mark.

Mark smiled. "See? I told you. Oh, wait," he reached up and wiped some foam away from Kyle's upper lip. "There, that's better."

"What were you two doing upstairs, anyway?" Rebecca asked, watching this exchange between her brother and Kyle closely. "Kyle, your hair's a mess."

Blushing, Kyle felt his hair and knew that it probably looked awful. The thought of his head rubbing against the bed as Mark kissed him flashed through his mind, along with the memory of Mark's fingers being tangled in it and pulling his head back. Looking away in shame, he let Mark field Rebecca's question.

"We were outside on the balcony," he said, drinking more of the coffee. "It's pretty windy out there still, but at least the snow has stopped, at least for a little while."

Rebecca still looked suspicious but she accepted this explanation without asking more questions; filling Kyle with relief. Dr. Cotswolds picked up her coffee mug and her dessert.

"Come on, let's go enjoy our dessert in the living room in front of the fire," she said. She led the way out of the kitchen and Kyle noticed that she was in her bare feet, having removed her high heels.

Settling in, the four of them passed the rest of the evening with easy conversation devoid of tension, and Kyle and Dr. Cotswolds were even able to discuss his future some more, with her making recommendations as to which schools had the best pre-med programs.

"I went to the University of Puget Sound when I first started out," she said, fondly. "It's not the flashiest school or the most prestigious, but I wouldn't trade my time there for anything. I guess I'm partial to the Olympic Peninsula though, having grown up there."

"Really? I've never been to that area of the country before," Kyle said, finishing his trifle.

"Yes, my parents had a cabin out on Hood Canal and it was just beautiful," she replied. "We could see the tips of the Cascade mountains over the trees on really clear mornings, and with all of those pine trees around, gosh," she sighed, "the air was clear and I absolutely loved it. At night you could hear the seals barking in the water as you fell asleep."

"I'm pretty sure we're going to lose mom if she walks down memory lane any further," Rebecca said, nudging Mark. Kyle noticed that her arm was wrapped around her brother's tightly.

"Come back to us, mom," he said.

"Anyway," she continued, "part of the reason I wanted to become a doctor happened on the canal, actually. My brother broke his leg while playing soccer and in a panic, my parents called our family doctor who just happened to be out on his yacht on Hood Canal at the time." She glanced at Kyle. "He lived right up the road from us," she explained. "Well, he told my folks to bring my brother on over and he'd have his boat docked for us to come aboard. Well, you'll never believe what happened next."

"What?" Kyle asked, intrigued.

"Well, this doctor ended up setting my brother's leg while being completely drunk*, but my parents didn't realize it." She shook her head. "How they couldn't have noticed is completely beyond me, but he set the leg incorrectly."

"You're kidding," Kyle breathed, his eyes wide.

"I wish! It wasn't until several days later, after my brother had already had a cast placed, that they realized something was wrong, because my brother was just in constant pain, and he screamed every time his leg moved even a little. Finally, they couldn't take it anymore and they ended up taking my brother to the hospital. After a couple of x-rays the doctors let them know that my brother's leg was healing incorrectly and they'd have to re-break it. My mother almost had a heart attack when she heard the news." Sighing, she took a sip of coffee. "Of course, that moron of a doctor got a slap on the wrist because the rules were different back then, I guess, but after seeing my brother go through so much agony at the hands of an incompetent doctor, I made it my goal to become a good one."

"And she did, too," Rebecca said, smiling at her mother.

"Thank you, darling," Dr. Cotswolds replied. Looking down at her watch, she gasped. "My goodness, it's already after 10:30, Kyle! Your parents must be worried sick!" She stood up. "Here, let me grab my shoes and I'll drive you home."

"That's alright, mom," Mark said. "The roads are awful, I'll just walk Kyle home."

"Are you sure?" She asked, her face worried. "It's so cold outside."

"I'll wear a coat, promise," he said. "Really, we'll be fine. Come on, Kyle." He went to stand up but Rebecca held him back.

"I'll go too," she said.

"You don't have to," he replied, unhooking her arm from his. "Kyle doesn't live that far, I'll be back in less than half an hour."

Pouting, she watched Kyle and Mark as they prepared to leave. "Thank you so much for having me over, Dr. Cotswolds," Kyle said.

"It was my pleasure, Kyle. You must come over again soon. Oh, and don't worry about your mother's dish. I'll wash it and Mark will bring it to you at school on Monday, if that's okay?"

"Sure, that's fine. Thank you," he said. He turned to Rebecca. "Thanks again for making dinner."

"Right, of course," she said, still pouting. "No problem."

In the foyer, Mark helped Kyle into his coat and then opened the door for him. Stepping outside, Kyle saw that it had begun to snow again and he groaned. With careful steps they made their way down the curving driveway, listening to the snow blowing through the trees; the tiny sounds of ice particles striking the branches. Mark was quiet as they walked, and Kyle wasn't sure what to say, so they passed the time in companionable silence; save for the wind and snow.

It wasn't until they'd made it to the corner of Kyle's street that Mark grabbed his arm and pulled him close, and he held him tightly beneath the light of a streetlamp. He kissed Kyle's lips with the same intensity as he had back in his bedroom, and Kyle had a hard time staying on his feet. Leaning into Mark, Kyle allowed the kiss to deepen and could feel Mark's tongue exploring his mouth. Feeling almost desperate with desire, he clutched at Mark's coat and tried to pull him even closer.

"We're always being interrupted as soon as we're finally alone," Mark said, pulling back and looking into Kyle's face. Impatience was simmering in his eyes. "I don't know how much longer I can wait." Resting a hand on Kyle's cheek he kissed him again, and this time he bit his lower lip lightly, making Kyle cry out.

"Don't act so surprised," Mark laughed. "I've already done worse to you, or did you forget?" He stroked Kyle's neck softly.

"I should probably go inside," Kyle said, placing his hand on his neck too. "My parents are going to wonder where I am, especially with all the snow." He started to draw away but Mark pulled him back, placing one last, hard kiss on his lips.

"Go," he said. "We'll pick up where we left off before too long, I guess." He smiled.

Kyle hurried away, looking back over his shoulder when he made it to his house, and he could see Mark still standing there, silhouetted under the yellow glow of the streetlamp. He waved briefly and then jammed his hands in his pockets, and turning he walked down the street, becoming just another shape in the darkness as he left the pool of light afforded by the streetlamp. Kyle ran to his front door and rifled through his coat pocket, trying to find his key. He found it and placed it in the lock, and after a moment he was inside his house; safe from the snow and cold, but still feeling like Mark could see him, no matter where he went.

****

After checking in with his parents and saying good night, Kyle went to his room and closed the door slowly, lost in thought. Pulling off his coat, he looked in the mirror hanging on the back of the door and inspected his neck. Aside from a very faint hickey, his skin looked the same, even though he was beginning to feel a little sore. He tried to imagine what he had looked like to Mark, sprawled on his bed, shirt open, and his belt wrapped around his neck. The idea was eerily similar to the dream he'd had, sitting on a throne in royal finery, a golden choker around his throat with a long chain attached.

No matter what he did, he always seemed to be bowing to Mark's whims; succumbing to his dark and confusing predilections. Maybe the dream had been a prophecy and Kyle really was meant to serve Mark, but instead of being forced to he was going to willingly sacrifice himself. The thought disturbed him beyond measure, especially since he still didn't know the truth of that one lost night and the bruises it created. Would he ever know the truth, and even if he did, would it change the path he was on; that he was choosing?

Maybe the worst part of all this was that he could feel himself being pulled further and further from Stan every time he was seduced by Mark's charms, and he hated himself for being so weak. There was no doubt in his mind that he loved Stan in a way that Mark could never touch, after all Stan represented every thing Kyle considered clean; sunshine, tender words, and romance. When he was in Stan's arms he had a chance to be pure and protected; cherished, really. Mark was the wolf at the door, the teeth in the chill outside that gave it its bite; he was blood pooling under his skin to create a bruise, and the leash around his neck that always kept Kyle from straying too far.

Needing a distraction from his thoughts, Kyle checked his phone. There was a text from Stan and he read it with a sinking stomach:

_didn't hear from you tonight so I guess everything went ok. i work in the evening tomorrow so i was wondering if you wanted to meet for coffee in the morning? let me know...i miss you._

Kyle texted him back, guilt slowing his fingers to a crawl:

_I miss you, too. Tonight was...different, I guess. I'll explain tomorrow; meet you at Harbuck's at 9?_

Stan replied in a few minutes and his response made Kyle smile, mainly because it was true:

_9 is cool. Different, huh? I'm sure Mark found a way to make even having dinner with his mom weird. See you tomorrow._

Kyle changed into his pajama pants and ratty t-shirt and climbed into bed, never feeling more awake. He could only wonder how he'd gotten to this point in his life, and where the hell was he even going? He supposed that people his age got into some weird shit as high school started coming to a close and the next chapter was set to begin, but how had he managed to find his way here? Everything had always made sense, and he'd always been careful to follow a very specific path, but now he was losing himself. Turning over, he looked out at the snow swirling past his window until he sank into an uneasy sleep, his neck throbbing faintly.

*****

"Wow, you're hungry this morning," Stan commented, watching Kyle sit down at the table with a large hot chocolate covered in whipped cream and a bear claw studded with almonds.

"It's weird, even though I went to Mark's house for dinner, we really didn't end up eating a whole lot," Kyle replied. He scooped up some whipped cream with a spoon and popped it into his mouth. Gesturing to his hot chocolate, he asked Stan if he wanted some.

"Sure," Stan said, and he opened his mouth with a little glint in his eye. Kyle grinned, catching on.

"Hold on," he said, and he scooped up another spoonful of whipped cream and placed it in Stan's waiting mouth. "What do you think?"

"I think I would've preferred if you'd done that with your finger, but I'll take what I can get," Stan said. He picked up his coffee and took a sip. "So, why didn't you eat very much at Mark's?" He snapped off a piece of Kyle's bear claw and bit into it. "More specifically, what did Mark do to cause it?"

Kyle took a drink of his hot chocolate and winced when it burned his mouth. "Surprisingly, it wasn't Mark that made things awkward," he said. "It was Rebecca and their mom." He thought a moment. "Actually, it was mainly Rebecca but her mom played a part."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, apparently Rebecca wanted to be a doctor at one point, but that changed as she grew up and Dr. Cotswolds made a comment about it. Somehow, that turned into Rebecca throwing her parents' divorce in her mom's face and getting on her case about bringing them back to South Park."

"Every meal goes better with a little family drama, don't you think?" Stan asked, rolling his eyes. "At least now we know for certain that people living in castles have just as many problems as the rest of us."

"Dude, I think they have more. Mark and Rebecca's dad is a stone-cold bastard. And," he added, leaning in closer, "Mark made a comment about his dad hitting him when he was younger."

Stan absorbed this bit of information with an impassive face. He picked at his breakfast sandwich, pulling off a small piece of ham and putting it in his mouth. He chewed slowly, swallowed, and finally spoke. "Well, that's pretty sad, I guess. I mean, I don't like hearing about anyone being abused by their parents, but that doesn't make it okay for Mark to treat people anyway he wants. And I think you know exactly what I'm talking about."

"Yes, I do," Kyle said, looking away. Sighing, his appetite for his breakfast was dwindling because of Stan's implication, and he had no idea how he was going to tell him about what Mark had done with the belt. In fact, he really didn't feel like he was even ready to talk about it yet so, recklessly, he kept it to himself. "But how will I ever know for sure what happened that night? And what if," he stopped for a moment to collect his thoughts, "what if Mark didn't actually do anything? What then?"

Stan set his coffee down on the table and crossed his arms. "Well, then I guess you two will be free to be together, Kyle. Aren't you excited?" He looked at the ceiling like he was trying very hard not to lose his temper. "Okay, so, let's say Mark didn't do anything, alright? He didn't assault you or whatever, but so what? He's still weird and he seems to be obsessed with you. Also," he rubbed his face in exasperation, "he doesn't seem to give a shit that we're in a relationship. Yes, we're "taking a break" or whatever you want to call it, but we were completely together when he started pulling his bullshit, and he just didn't care. What kind of person acts like that?"

"Mark doesn't seem to take things like that into consideration, does he?" Kyle said, stirring his hot chocolate even though he had no intention of finishing it.

"No, Kyle, he doesn't. I don't think he has the capability of even being a decent friend, let alone someone you would ever want to date. What is this weird hold he has over you, huh? I just don't get it so please help me understand." Stan reached across the table and took Kyle's hand, and the gesture almost made him want to cry.

"I don't know," Kyle said so softly he was almost whispering. "He makes me feel so confused and he always makes me second-guess myself when he's around. I don't know what to do, Stan. I don't necessarily like him as a person, even though I think he's smart; my body just responds to him. I'm attracted to him. I don't know what else to say."

"Neither do I," Stan said and he lapsed into a silence that seemed to stretch on forever, each moment becoming more pregnant than the one that came before it. The muscles in his jaw jumped and he appeared to be trying to gather control before he started speaking again. "I want to be with you more than anything, Kyle, but I can't just continue to watch this happen. It hurts too much. Until you figure out what you want, I don't think I can be with you in any type of romantic relationship, even an open one."

Kyle's heart felt like it thudded into the bottom of his stomach when Stan said that, and almost immediately his eyes began to water. Hunching over the table, he watched as tears fell from his eyes and plopped into his lukewarm hot chocolate, and try as he might, he couldn't make them stop. Whenever he was really upset, his skin would start to feel super sensitive, like every nerve in his body was exposed. In that moment he felt completely raw and ripped open, and he struggled to retain any semblance of composure.

"Kyle, Kyle, hold on. Please stop," Stan said, coming around the table to sit beside him. Putting his arms around Kyle he pulled him close, trying to sooth him. "I'm not saying that I don't care about you. If anything, I care about you so much that I can't stand seeing you give into Mark like this. I don't trust that guy but I know you need to make your own decisions." He was quiet for a moment while Kyle silently sobbed. "I'm sorry but I didn't think this would hurt so much; I'm so fucking weak."

"No, you're not. I am," Kyle cried into his shoulder. "Stan, I'm so sorry I let all of this happen...I'm just lucky you put up with this for so long. I know I shouldn't let Mark get to me like this, and I know he's not a good person. I'm not even a good person anymore."

Stan shushed him softly and held him closer. "That isn't true, you're a wonderful person. In fact, you're my favorite person in the whole world, and that's part of the reason this hurts so much. I'm not leaving you, Kyle. I just want you to figure out who you want to be, and where you want to go. You have your whole future mapped out when it comes to school and your career, but you need to decide what kind of person you want to share all that with. Who knows? Maybe you don't need to be with anyone right now."

Kyle pulled away and looked into Stan's sweet, blue eyes, and he could see that he was starting to cry too. Seeing those tears destroyed what was left of his heart, and he could feel himself breaking down even more inside. Desperately, he tried to find the right words to say in a quagmire of wrong ones.

"Stan, I love you. I love you so much," he blurted out. Slapping a hand over his mouth at this confession, he stared at Stan, who seemed equally as shocked. A few tears slid out of Stan's eyes and he smiled, and it was a smile that had enough warmth and power behind it to light up South Park and melt all the snow away. Kyle basked in this smile like he would a ray of pure, spring sunshine; and for a moment he almost felt like himself again.

"I know you do, Kyle. I think this almost goes without saying but I think you need to hear it: I love you, too, and I always have." Wiping the tears away from Kyle's eyes with his thumbs, he kissed him lightly on the nose. "Now I need you to start doing some soul-searching, alright? Because if we get back together, I need to know that you want me and love me the same way that I want and need you. Okay?"

Kyle had started to cry again, but somehow his heart felt a little lighter after telling Stan that he loved him. He managed to nod and tried to assure Stan that he would try for him, even if it was hard. They managed to pass the rest of breakfast laughing and talking as best friends, but when they parted that morning and went their separate ways, Kyle was already beginning to mourn the love that had started at the beginning of summer, but had barely managed to last longer than a season.

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I just want to go on record to say that this little anecdote is based on actual events. My father broke his leg as a teenager and some stupid doctor drunkenly tried to set it. As a result, he fucked up the leg's healing process and he had to have it broken and reset again. So, wherever you are out there, negligent doctor, you're an asshole. (Who am I kidding? He's probably dead at this point; this happened in the 70s and that dude was pretty old already, if I'm recalling the story correctly.)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to provide a warning at the beginning regarding the racy nature of this chapter. As a general rule, I'm not really fond of writing overly involved sex scenes, but for whatever reason it felt necessary in this instance. If you are not a fan of that type of subject matter, I would recommend not reading this particular chapter. However, if that's your cup of tea, tuck in and get comfortable; you're in for a bumpy ride.
> 
> As always, I hope everyone who happens to read this enjoys it, and if the mood strikes you, please leave a comment. I absolutely adore feedback.
> 
> Thank you for indulging my habit of prattling on; now off you go. Read in good health!

**I might just text you**  
**Turn your phone over, when it's all over**  
**No settling down, my text go to your screen**  
**You know better than that**  
**I come around when you least expect me**  
**I'm sitting at the bar when your glass is empty**  
**You thinking that the songs coming on to tempt me**  
**I need to be alone like the way you left me**  
**You start calling, you start crying**  
**I come over, I'm inside you**  
**I can't find you**

**-Childish Gambino, Heartbeat**

 

*********

December seeped into South Park with record low temperatures, causing the snowfall that covered the town during Thanksgiving to become a permanent, hardened part of the landscape. After the storms finally stopped, the town was blessed with clear blue skies polished to a sapphire brilliance and sharpened by cruel, bitter winds. Kyle found it unbearable to be outside for any length of time, and he could feel the cold sinking into his bones and making a home there.

The weather wasn't the only thing that was bringing him misery, though. After that Sunday morning breakfast during Thanksgiving break, he and Stan had still been affectionate with one another, but not like before. The intimacy they had cultivated just wasn't there anymore, and Kyle felt stupid for even thinking that things could stay the same in any capacity. They still met for coffee in the mornings with Cartman and Kenny, but Stan no longer had a latte waiting for Kyle when he showed up, and his habit of casually draping his arm around Kyle's shoulders had disappeared.

Kyle was surprised to realize that it was the little things he missed the most; the things he had appreciated every time they happened and the other tiny gestures that he probably took for granted. Sometimes he felt like he would give anything to have Stan reach out and take his hand while he was talking, almost like he wasn't even aware he was doing it; just holding it gently to show that he was listening. He missed the way Stan would tease him about his picky eating habits and his obsessive need to keep his fingernails clean and short. At night when he crawled into bed his heart ached at the absence of Stan's customary good night text; he missed it all.

Gone were those feverish afternoons wrapped up in each other's arms and becoming lost in one another; the lingering kisses and exploration. Stan was the first person to touch Kyle under his clothes, to kiss him so deeply he thought he was becoming drunk from it. The intoxication and excitement of discovering one another had created its own potent type of ecstasy that had left Kyle breathless, and without it, he just felt lost. That's the way he felt now; lost and wandering alone. The worst part was that he had been the master of his own misery; he'd created this situation, and he kept it going.

Ever since Mark had placed his belt around Kyle's neck it felt like it was always there, and whenever he wanted Kyle he would tug on it and draw him closer. It could be with a word or a look or a gesture; the catalyst didn't matter because Kyle would respond regardless. It almost felt like he was running to Mark to punish himself for pushing Stan away. What did it matter now? Mark was starting to take on the same dimension as the bitter cold gripping South Park; he had found a way to sink into Kyle's bones right down to the marrow.

Kyle had tried to resist at first, especially right after Stan broke up with him. He'd distanced himself from everyone for awhile, and had responded to his heartbreak in the same way he'd dealt with the bruises and lost memories; he completely checked out. Really, his way to deal with trauma was not to deal with it at all. He didn't want to talk to his parents, he didn't want to face his feelings, and now that he didn't have Stan in his corner like before, he really didn't have an outlet to turn to. So he turned inward and tried to cope by becoming numb, and for awhile that worked. He was even able to resist Mark's seductive overtures for a couple of weeks, until one fateful day in mid-December.

It was a late Friday afternoon and another tutoring session was winding down. Kyle felt like he was finally making some headway with Ben and Nathan, the other boy Mr. Mackey had asked him to tutor, so he was actually feeling chipper for the first time in awhile. After he outlined the areas he really wanted them to focus on for next time, Mr. Mackey had come into the room like he always did to announce that the session was over. Kyle had packed up his bag and shrugged on his coat, relieved that he'd finally pulled out the heavy one he reserved for really cold weather, and had slowly walked outside. He didn't feel an extreme need to hurry, after all, Stan was working that night and they hadn't really talked about getting together anyway, and he wasn't really interested in making plans with anyone else at the moment.

He'd done his best to shut out and avoid Mark since Thanksgiving break, and for the first time it almost seemed like he was respecting Kyle's boundaries. Walking home, Kyle struggled not to succumb to the awful cold, and he pulled his scarf tight around his neck, vaguely aware that the sensation was very similar to a certain someone's soft leather belt. Ignoring this unwanted thought, he trudged towards home, his breath soaking into his scarf and making it soggy. The sun was already low in the sky, hanging on the horizon like a bloated salmon egg, but its ruby light provided very little warmth.

The icy winds were relentless, and while they couldn't make their way through his thick coat, they tore through the fabric of his jeans, making his skinny legs go numb. He kept thinking to himself that he could bear this cold if not for the wind, but it kept whistling through him, and it felt like it was scraping layers of him away. It was to the point where the wind was bringing involuntary tears to his eyes when a black car pulled up beside him and stopped at the curb. The cold was making him drowsy so it took him a moment to realize who it was.

The window slowly slid down and there was Mark, smiling and squinting in the bloody glow of the sun.

"Kyle, it's too cold for you to be walking home. Come on, get in and I'll drive you," he called.

Kyle was too cold to talk so he just shook his head and kept walking. Mark drove alongside him as he stubbornly stalked along, the wind tearing him to shreds.

"Kyle, you're being ridiculous. Just get in the car."

Kyle stopped, turned, and faced him. He pulled his scarf away from his mouth and managed to make his cold face work enough to respond. "I don't need a ride, Mark. Just leave me alone." Having said his piece, he continued walking, trying his best to ignore Mark, who kept driving beside him. After some time, he was vaguely aware that Mark's car was no longer next to him, but he refused to look back to see where it was. He tried to increase his pace, but it was hard when the cold was so brutal. Every joint and muscle was becoming stiff, so he tried to just focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

He'd gone several yards when he felt a hand gripping his arm and he was being whipped around to face Mark, whose messy windswept hair had been glazed with the light of the sunset. He didn't look angry, just annoyed, and his hand was still clutching Kyle's upper arm.

"Kyle, listen. The wind chill today is dangerously low; do you want to get frostbite or something? Stop being stupid and get in the damn car."

Kyle pulled his arm away, infuriated that Mark never seemed to listen to anything he said. He was trying to behave and Mark was making it so fucking difficult.

"I told you that I don't want a ride," he said through gritted teeth. "What part of that do you not understand? I'm perfectly capable of walking home on my own."

Mark rolled his eyes towards the sky like he was praying to God to give him strength. When he looked at Kyle again, it was like he was trying to make sense of a newly discovered life form. "I know you're capable of walking home, Kyle," he said, slowly, like he was talking to a child. "I just don't think it's safe, and if you'd bothered to look at the forecast today you'd already know that." He opened his arms and looked around. "Do you see anyone else out walking? No? That's because it's too fucking cold. Now get your ass in the car before I drag you there myself."

Kyle took a step back. "N-no," he cleared his throat, trying to sound strong. "No, I'm not going with you, and I mean it. I'm walking home just like I planned, end of story."

"Well, I guess you've made your choice," Mark shrugged, and stepped towards Kyle. Ignoring his protests, he reached down, lifted Kyle up, and threw him over his shoulder. He turned and headed for his car, which was parked at the curb.

"What the fuck are you doing?! Let me go, you fucking asshole!" Kyle yelled, struggling to get away. He was so numb and fatigued from the cold that his flailing and kicking didn't make much of a difference at all.

Mark doggedly carried him to his car, threw the door open, and deposited Kyle in the front seat. In a smooth motion he closed the door, walked around the car and climbed behind the wheel. He'd left the car running so all he had to do was put it in drive and they were moving. Through a haze of shock and rage, Kyle saw him turn up the heat, flooding the car with warmth and taking some of the chill out of his body. Ripping his scarf off, Kyle turned to stare at him before he was able to think of something to say, and Mark's calm face only served to infuriate him more.

"I can't believe you just did that," he said, faintly. He was so angry he couldn't even yell. "I told you I didn't want a ride and you just, you just-" he broke off, unable to articulate his outrage.

"Kyle, you are too fucking stubborn for you own good," Mark replied, smoothly. Reaching over, he pointed one of his heating vents towards Kyle. "There, is that better?"

"You're not even listening to me!" Kyle exploded. "Pull over right now; I'm getting out." Desperately, he started to pull on the door handle

Mark placed a hand on Kyle's leg and squeezed gently. "Calm down, okay? I didn't want you to get sick out there so I did what I thought was best. I'm sorry, alright? I shouldn't have done that but, goddammit, you're so hard to reason with."

Kyle stared at Mark's hand on his leg for a moment, wanting to impale it. Crossing his arms, he looked out the window and sulked instead. On some level, he wanted to believe that Mark genuinely wanted to help him, but he couldn't just do whatever the fuck he wanted all the time, and he told him as such.

"I know, but you run so fucking hot and cold, Kyle," he replied, glancing in the rear view mirror at a truck that was switching lanes behind them. "I never know where I stand with you. Sometimes I feel like we're starting to get closer but then you withdraw and I try to help you and you just push me away. Or you just seem angry with me," he added. Slowing the car, he came to a stop at a red light in the middle of downtown.

"I am angry with you. You never listen to a damn word I say, and-" he stopped, not sure what to say next.

"And what?" Mark pressed.

"You just confuse me, and I hate it," Kyle said, looking down at his hands.

"Well, at least we're on the same page with something," Mark said. "Will you at least talk to me about it? We can go back to my place if you want." The light turned green and Mark accelerated smoothly.

Kyle glanced over at him, at his profile with the sloped, aristocratic nose and full lower lip; the high cheek bones fading into a severe jawline. Considering Mark's proposition, he suddenly felt so tired he just wanted to collapse. Finally, he sighed, feeling stupid and defeated and unbelievably wrung out.

"Fine, I guess. But don't even ask me if I'm going to drink or smoke with you, because the answer is going to be no."

"I figured that already," Mark replied as he steered the car towards Stark's Pond; his home waiting just beyond it.

*****

"The tree turned out pretty well," Kyle said, sipping a cup of hot tea. "Rebecca came up with a good idea."

Mark set down his empty wine glass and sat back in his chair, his eyes focused on the tree that stood in front of the floor to ceiling windows. The white lights strung on its branches pushed back the darkness that had fallen outside, and glinted off the stags in their plethora of colors. It was easily 9 feet tall, but in the large living room it didn't come close to touching the ceiling, which soared high overhead. A multi-pointed milky glass star rested at the top, and it too gave off a warm glow.

"It's fine, I guess," Mark said. "Becky always did have an eye for decorating."

"Where is she, anyway?"

"Oh, I think she's over at Wendy's house. Wendy asked her if she'd be on the winter dance committee and they're having a brainstorming session tonight," he replied, indifferently. "I think a couple of the other girls are there too but I'm not sure, Becky didn't really give me too many details."

"That's surprising. I thought you guys told each other everything," Kyle commented, drinking his tea. His legs were finally beginning to thaw out and now they felt red and swollen, but thankfully the feeling had come back into his hands without too much incident.

"Becky hasn't been acting like herself lately. She's been in a pretty bad mood and I got tired of her biting my head off whenever I asked her any questions so I just stopped." He shrugged. "She'll come to me when she wants."

"Are you going to the dance?" Kyle asked, unable to imagine Mark attending a formal dance held in the school gym, with cheesy decorations everywhere.

Mark snorted. "Are you serious? No way. I haven't been to a school dance since that ridiculous Bay of Pigs fiasco a million years ago." He peered at Kyle. "I'm sure you remember that night in vivid detail."

"Yes, actually," Kyle replied, uneasily. "Let's not talk about that, okay?"

"I assume you and Stan are going to the dance together, right?"

Kyle shifted in his seat, feeling even more uncomfortable now. "Let's not talk about that either."

Mark's eyes brightened. "I thought you two were acting kind of weird the past couple of weeks. What happened?"

"Just drop it," Kyle snapped.

"Okay, fine. But your behavior right now is telling me pretty much everything I need to know anyway." Picking up the wine bottle on the coffee table, he poured some into his glass. "So, about what you said in the car, I confuse you? How?"

"I think it's pretty obvious, Mark," Kyle said, still irritated at the mention of Stan. "You are quite possibly one of the strangest people I have ever met in this town, and if you know South Park's history you'll know that that is an amazing feat."

"Is it really so strange to like someone and actually act on it?" Mark asked.

"You don't like me, Mark. You just like to terrorize me."

"Yeah, like I'd waste this kind of energy on someone I just want to terrorize," Mark scoffed. Pausing, he thought a moment. "Okay, maybe I would, but in this instance that's not the case."

"So, what's the deal?"

"I don't think what I'm doing is really strange, Kyle. I think you just feel weird for liking the things I do to you, so you're trying to deflect."

Kyle considered this for a moment. "Okay, maybe that's partially true, but I'm standing behind my assessment that you're fucking demented."

"That's just my cross to bear, I guess," he said. "So, you admit it then."

"Admit what?"

"You like what I do to you."

"Stop trying to coerce me into stroking your ego, Mark," Kyle said, setting his teacup down primly.

"Fair enough," he replied, draining his glass of wine. He set the glass down on the coffee table and stood, stretching his arms over his head. When he lowered them, his hands went directly to his belt buckle.

"What are you doing?" Kyle asked, watching Mark's hands; his eyebrows raised.

"Just taking off my belt, Kyle. What, can't I get comfortable at the end of a long day?" He pulled it off, and it hissed softly as it passed through the belt loops.

"Oh."

"What, did you think I was going to put it around your neck again? Christ, you are such a pervert."

"Are you serious right now? I wouldn't even be thinking about it if you hadn't wrapped the fucking thing around my neck in the first place," Kyle said.

"Oh, lighten up. I'm just playing with you. Hey, did you want to order food or something? I'm starving." He folded the belt and threw it on the coffee table. Sitting down, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. "My treat."

"Sure, okay," Kyle replied. "But I can pay for myself."

Mark groaned. "I'm sure you can, but I don't want to have to deal with splitting the bill onto two different cards; it's so annoying. Why don't you just let me pay this time and you can get the next one. Is that fair?"

"Fine, but what makes you think there will even be a next time?" Kyle was annoyed, and when he felt that way he became petulant.

Rolling his eyes, Mark started tapping something out on his phone. "So, what do you want? Chinese? Pizza? God, I wish there was a decent Indian place around here."

"Pizza's fine, I just don't want anything weird on mine like pineapple. I usually just have cheese."

"You want to have the most boring thing on the menu, got it. So let me see," Mark became quiet as he scrolled through his phone. After a few minutes, he looked up. "Okay, it's done. They should be here in half an hour or so."

"Well, thanks for letting me know you were ordering already," Kyle said. "I kind of wanted a salad, too."

"I knew you would, so I ordered one. Garden, right? No tomatoes?"

"How the hell did you know that?"

"Kyle, we go to the same school and we eat in the same cafeteria. I've heard you order in the lunch line and you get the same thing almost every time. You eat like some fussy little bird. No wonder you're so skinny."

"Quit calling me skinny," Kyle muttered.

"It's a compliment. I like you that way." Yawning, he leaned his head on his hand. "It certainly made it easier to throw you over my shoulder."

"Oh, my god," Kyle groaned. "Would you please shut up about that? I could be at home right now if you'd just back off."

"No one forced you to come over today, Kyle. I might have forced you into my car, but beyond that you're here by choice. How are you feeling? Have you warmed up?"

"Mostly, I guess. Now I just feel itchy."

"Weird. Did you want to get in the hot tub while we're waiting for your boring food?" Mark asked, smirking.

"I'm not going back outside, even if there is a hot tub. It's unbearable out there."

"We have a pool and hot tub inside the house, too." He looked around. "It's kind of a big place, after all."

Kyle considered this, but felt leery for obvious reasons. "I don't know."

"I'm not going to try anything, Kyle," Mark sighed. "Fine, do whatever you feel comfortable with." He stood and started walking out of the room.

"Wait, where are you going?" Kyle yelled, jumping up to follow him.

"Where do you think? I'm going to get in the hot tub." Mark replied without bothering to look back.

****

Less than 10 minutes later, Kyle found himself up to his chin in luxurious, bubbly water. Sitting across from him was Mark, his head leaned back in relaxation and the soft lighting in the pool area glinting off of his wet chest. The air around them was humid and Kyle reveled in the feeling of being completely enveloped in warmth. Mark had brought a bottle of water along with him and he took a languid sip; he offered it to Kyle who took it gratefully.

"It's weird seeing you drink something that isn't wine," he commented, handing the bottle back.

"Well, it's weird seeing you sitting in my hot tub wearing my swim trunks," Mark replied. "I hope the food gets here soon. I told Janice to let us know when it was delivered."

"Janice?" Kyle asked.

"Yeah, the housekeeper. You were in the bathroom when I spoke to her."

"Wait, someone else is in the house?" Kyle asked, sitting up so that his shoulders and chest rose above the water.

"Well, yeah, Kyle. She kind of works here sometimes. Why is that so alarming?"

"I don't know. It's just unsettling that your house is so large that there can be other people here and you don't even realize it." He thought a moment. "You call her Janice?"

"That's her name; what else would I call her?" Mark asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"It's just so," he groped for the right word. "Disrespectful, I guess? Calling an adult by their first name. I mean, your mom asked me to and I just couldn't. My parents are crazy about stuff like that."

"Well, aren't you obedient?" Mark asked, snickering. "Kyle, Janice is the housekeeper. I don't have any problem calling her by her first name."

"You are such a snob," Kyle said with distaste.

"No, I'm not. It's just always been this way, ever since I was little. She's been the housekeeper here for years, dude. She was here when my grandparents were still alive."

"Still, it just doesn't sound right."

"Maybe not to you," Mark said. "If she doesn't have a problem with it, I don't see what the big deal is." He wiped some sweat out of his eyes. "I thought getting in the hot tub would help you relax, but it appears you're just relentlessly uptight."

"I'm not trying to be," Kyle sighed. "It's just hard to let myself relax."

"That's why you need to get hammered, man."

"No," he said, abruptly. "I did that with you once before and look where it got me."

Mark laid his head back again and stared at the ceiling. "Christ, I give up."

"Oh, I'm sorry that my potentially being assaulted by you is ruining your good time, Mark. How thoughtless of me to bring that up. Can you ever forgive me?" Kyle asked.

"Are you ever going to fucking let that go?!" Mark suddenly yelled, startling Kyle. His head had snapped up and he was staring at him, his cheeks flushed from the hot tub but also from anger. Kyle had seen him become angry in the past but it was very unusual for him to raise his voice like this. "I already told you I didn't do anything!"

Kyle shrunk into himself, and sunk back into the water so that it was coming up to his chin. He stared at Mark with large eyes. Mark looked back at him and he was breathing heavily, the sound ragged but slightly muffled by the bubbling of the water. Taking a deep breath, Mark ran a hand through his hair, the moisture on it making his dark hair spiky.

"I know this is the elephant in the room every time we're together, Kyle, but I don't know what to say. What can I say, really? You think I've done this awful thing, and I really can't fight against something if you've already convinced yourself it's true. But, there's just one thing I don't get."

"What?" Kyle asked, softly. He was hugging his knees to his chest; protecting himself from Mark's rage.

"Why are you even here if you think I-" he broke off and rubbed his face with his hands. "If you think I raped you?" He pronounced the word like it was poison in his mouth. "Like, if you honestly think I'm capable of that, how can you stomach being in the same room with me, let alone sitting in a hot tub half naked together?"

Kyle looked down at himself through the water, at his distorted arms and out of focus legs, and he had no idea how to respond to Mark's question. He'd been trying to figure out the same thing in his own mind, but it was startling to have the question thrown at him by someone else; especially Mark. And to hear that word, that horrible ugly word, rape, out loud, made him want to vomit. He remembered the bruises all over his body and the visions that he couldn't distinguish between memories or dreams, and he just didn't know what to say. All of this had been weighing on him, on his shoulders, for so long that it was almost like he was saturated with it; it was to the point where he couldn't absorb anymore of the pain, but he couldn't continue to live with it either.

Before he knew it, he was crying, and he was looking at Mark through a haze of tears, and he too became distorted just like Kyle's body under the water; like the images in his brain that tormented him. Kyle's body was wracked with big, ugly sobs that took his breath away, and he was gasping for air, and he started to gag he was crying so hard. He sobbed until he'd been wrung out like a washcloth, and he felt arms around him, drawing him close, and he was pressing his head against Mark's strong chest, and he clung to him like he was the only thing that could keep him tethered to reality.

Kyle apologized to Mark through his tears, his words nonsensical and frenzied. He didn't want to carry around this load anymore. He just wanted to forget, he wanted to be free; he wanted to fly above the pain and regret and the devastation of losing himself and losing Stan. He wanted to give in to his base desires and just let go completely. Hungrily, he reached up and wrapped his arms around Mark's neck and he was kissing him, kissing him like it was the very first time; he wasn't holding anything back, determined to give him everything he hadn't before. He was straddling Mark's lap and their hot, wet bodies were melding together as their mouths met, and their tongues were tasting each other's desire.

Mark kissed him back with just as much intensity, but he finally pulled away and looked into Kyle's face, his eyes searching for answers. "Kyle, what are you doing? Do you even know what you want right now?"

"Yes," Kyle gasped, and he licked Mark's lips until they opened and his tongue was inside, tasting the wine and smoke that he had come to associate with Mark, only Mark; that dark, captivating taste that consumed him like fire. "I want this," he murmured in between kisses. "I need this. I need you." Vaguely, he was aware of Mark's erection pressing against his own, and he moved his body so that they were rubbing together, a delicious, mesmerizing friction growing between them.

"Kyle, stop," Mark moaned, holding Kyle tightly, his fingers pressing into his skin. "Please, I don't want to do it like this. I've been waiting so long for you; I want to take my time." He managed to push Kyle away and he turned, taking big gulps of air into his lungs like he had been drowning. Kyle watched him while gasping for air too, and he didn't feel like himself; in a savage part of his brain he was happy that he wasn't holding back anymore.

"Hello? Mark?" A voice carried across the room, and they stared at each other, their eyes wide and startled. The voice called out again and Mark finally got his bearings and answered.

"In here, Becky," he said, scooting back over to the other side of the tub. He looked at Kyle and his face seemed to be telling him to play it straight; to get some control over himself.

Rebecca walked into the room wearing a strawberry red bikini that was basically more string than fabric, her hair swept up into a messy bun and her feet bare. She was holding the pizza Mark had ordered as well as a bag, no doubt containing Kyle's salad. Her pace slowed slightly when she saw Kyle in the hot tub.

"Oh, hey, Kyle. I didn't know you were here, too," she smiled. She turned to put the food on a table and Kyle saw that the back of her bikini bottom was shaped like a heart, and it clung to her like a second skin, revealing full, curvy cheeks. A tiny green clover was tattooed on her right buttock. "Here's your food, guys," she said, and as she turned to face them, she noticed Mark's half empty wine glass on the table. "Mark, do you mind?" She pointed at the glass and he nodded.

"Go ahead," he replied, and he watched as his sister picked up the glass and then walked over to the hot tub. Leaning over, she set the glass down on the floor and Kyle was scandalized when one of her plump breasts almost fell out of her top. She adjusted herself carelessly as she stepped into the water, and lowered herself slowly, the bubbles frothing against her skin. Once she was seated, she reached for the glass and took a sip, and she leaned back, sighing.

"Mmm, this feels so good," she murmured, closing her eyes. "You guys definitely had the right idea; it's so cold outside that it's scary." Drowsily, she opened her eyes and glanced at her brother. "I seriously didn't miss Colorado winters, did you?"

"Not especially, no," he replied, his eyes focused on Kyle. "We were actually just about to get out," he added. "Weren't we, Kyle?"

Before Kyle could respond, Rebecca was leaning forward, her hand on her neck. "Oh, dammit, my hair got tangled in the string when I was tying my top. God, I hate when that happens and now it's pulling every time I move. Kyle, could you help me?" She looked at him and her cheeks were flushed from the heat; her hazel eyes bright.

"Uh, sure," Kyle replied, his voice tremulous.

"Oh, you're a doll. Here," she came over to him and turned around. Lifting up her hair she exposed her neck, and he could see that a brown tendril had become tangled up with the red string. "Can you get it?" She asked, looking over her shoulder at him.

Kyle's face was on fire as he inspected Rebecca's situation. "I think I'm actually going to have to undo the string," he finally said. "It's just too tangled up."

"Do what you have to," she replied, still holding her brown curls away from her neck. Even though she'd gathered her hair into a bun, long tendrils had escaped, refusing to be tamed. Mark was silent, watching with amusement as Kyle timidly reached up and gently tugged on Rebecca's bikini.

The knot was stubborn so Kyle pulled a little harder, and without warning it came undone and he was left holding one string while the other one fell, causing half of Rebecca's top to fall. For a moment they all watched as the wayward string floated on the surface of the water, until Rebecca reached out and plucked it up. Turning, she offered it to Kyle, seemingly undisturbed that her breast was on display. Idly, Kyle noticed that she had a beauty mark near the inside, where her cleavage would be if her large breasts had been pushed together. He was even more taken aback at the sight of a silver ring dangling from the hard, pink nipple.

"Earth to Kyle," Mark was saying as he came back to reality. "Are you going to help my sister cover her innocence or what?" He started laughing at Kyle's shocked face.

Rebecca was laughing too and she pulled her top up, covering herself. She draped the string over her shoulder, waiting for Kyle to wake up and take it. "It's almost like he's never seen boobs before," she said. "Why didn't you tell me how innocent Kyle is, Mark?"

Mark shrugged and grinned, still laughing as Kyle awkwardly brushed Rebecca's hair away and managed to tie her top; securing it with a lopsided bow. When he was done, Rebecca turned around and before he could react she had kissed him on the cheek, her lips soft and moist as they lingered there for a moment. She pulled back and her eyes were full of warmth.

"Kyle, you're too adorable for words. Thanks for helping a girl out." She drifted away from him and went to grab her drink, lifting herself out of the hot tub so she could sit on the edge. "I just can't stay in for very long before I start feeling dizzy," she explained, finishing off the rest of the wine in one gulp. Her bikini bottoms dipped low in the front, exposing another small tattoo near the top of her pubis in the shape of a star.

Mark reached over and laid a hand on her foot, looking up at her. "Do you need some water? Wine isn't going to help you if you're feeling dizzy."

She moved her foot away and shook her head. "No, I'm okay," she replied. "Besides, if I need anything I'll just ask Kyle to help me." She looked over at Kyle, her tone playful. "Is that okay with you?"

Kyle managed to nod, and Mark rolled his eyes.

"Just ignore her, Kyle. She's in one of her ridiculous moods." Placing his hands on the rim of the hot tub, he pulled himself up so he was sitting next to Rebecca. Reaching back, he grabbed a towel from a chair, stood up, and went over to Kyle. He held a hand out to him. Wordlessly, Kyle took it and rose from the water, and even though the air in the room was warm, he still shivered. Mark wrapped the towel around him and pulled him close, rubbing his skin dry.

"You look sleepy," he said.

Kyle nodded his head. "I feel a little tired."

"You probably need to eat." Mark turned to Rebecca. "Hey, did you want some pizza? I doubt we'll be able to eat that whole thing by ourselves."

Rebecca stood and adjusted her top, and Kyle couldn't help but notice the faint outlines of both of her nipple rings through the thin fabric. He looked away, having seen more than enough of Mark's sister for one day.

"Nah, that's okay. I ate over at Wendy's, but thanks." She went and grabbed a towel too, and Kyle was relieved when she wrapped it around herself.

"How did the meeting go, by the way?" Mark asked, opening the box of pizza and handing a slice to Kyle.

"It was fine, I guess. We're just arguing over the color scheme we're gonna go with," Rebecca replied. "I don't even care, honestly. I'm just worried that no one's going to invite me." She pouted.

Mark frowned. "Why would you want to go with any of the losers at that school, Becky? They're beneath you."

"Maybe so, but I still want to be asked. All of the other girls are going and I don't want to be left out." She wrapped another towel around her hair.

"I really don't think that's a good idea," Mark said. "I don't trust any of those guys to not try something with you. Like that idiot, Clyde? He definitely wanted to put the moves on you, and I would've had to snap his fucking neck."

"Relax, Mark. I can take care of myself, and besides, it's just a dance. I'm not buying a one way ticket to Sodom and Gomorrah." She patted his cheek and gave him a knowing look while gesturing at Kyle. "You have your fun, and I'll have mine, okay?"

Kyle flushed at her words and looked down at his pizza. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Mark glaring at her but she was clearly nonplussed.

"I need to take a shower," she said. "I hate that feeling when chlorine sits on my skin for too long." She noticed Kyle looking up from his pizza and she waved. "See you later, Kyle. You too, Mark," she said, almost like he was an afterthought. Mark watched her leave, his face grim.

"She's fucking impossible," he said, grabbing another piece of pizza.

"I can't blame her for wanting to be asked to the dance," Kyle said. He'd finished his pizza and had opened his salad, making sure that there weren't any tomatoes.

"Don't be so naive, Kyle. She won't have any problem getting a date," Mark replied. "I mean, you've seen her assets with your own eyes. Do you really think those degenerates at school need more of a reason to ask her anywhere?"

"I guess not," Kyle stammered. He had to admit that from a certain perspective Rebecca had a great body, but he really couldn't speak for the straight guys at school; her curves really didn't do anything for him. Mark's long torso and muscular arms on the other hand, well, those were an entirely different story. Kyle could feel his earlier arousal start to rear its head again.

Mark was still agitated though. "I just know she's going to do something stupid and I'm going to have to save her. Why does she do shit like this? She drives me crazy!" He pushed the pizza box away in frustration.

Kyle just stayed silent, not sure what to say. Quietly, he finished his salad and waited for Mark's stormy mood to pass.

Mark ran a hand through his hair and looked at Kyle after fuming for a few minutes; he raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"So?" He finally asked.

"So?" Kyle parroted, confused.

"Are you ready?" Mark looked at him, his eyes and expression full of a dark, hidden meaning, and Kyle could feel his heartbeat speeding up.

"I think so," he replied, but he wasn't sure now.

"No, Kyle. I don't want you to have to think about it. Are you ready or not? Answer me."

Kyle wrapped the towel more tightly about himself and he nodded, suddenly feeling too shy to look directly at Mark; his eyes shifting to focus on the floor. Mark came into his line of sight and he felt his hand coming to rest on his chin and lifting his face. Mark kissed his upturned lips; and the touch was almost chaste.

"Follow me," he said.

****

Feeling like he was caught in the web of a dream, Kyle allowed Mark to lead him along the familiar path to his room; up a winding stair and down the same hallway, dusty portraits of dead relatives smiling blankly from the walls; chastising them as they passed. They stepped into Mark's room and this time Kyle could hear the soft click as the door was being locked behind him. He stood waiting until he felt Mark's hand sliding along the back of his neck, and he turned to face him.

"I need you to answer a few questions before we start, okay?" He asked.

Kyle nodded, holding the towel around his body; shielding himself.

"I'm not new at this, Kyle, but I know that you are, so," he stopped, clearing his throat. "I need to know how you want this to play out."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for starters, what have you already done?"

Kyle hesitated. He really didn't want to discuss the things he'd done with Stan with Mark. It just felt wrong; like a betrayal. Not that he was really new to betrayal, he thought, feeling guilty.

"Kyle?" Mark asked.

"This is really hard for me to talk about," Kyle finally said. "It doesn't seem fair to Stan."

"Your loyalty to him is really heartwarming, Kyle, but you're kind of doing yourself a disservice by not being upfront about what you've done, what you want, what you don't want, etc."

"Okay, fine. Stan and I have kissed and he's, um, done things to my-," he gestured to his genital region. "You know, to my swimsuit area."

"Kyle, this really isn't going to work if you can't at least name your body parts. I'm not asking you to be clinical here, just call it your cock or whatever."

"Mark, that word is filthy," Kyle said.

"What we're getting ready to do is filthy. We should at least be able to talk about it if we're going to do it." Mark said, his voice exasperated. "Come on, let's sit down and just talk. Is that okay?"

Kyle nodded, and he allowed Mark to steer him over to his bed where he sat, still holding the towel around himself. Mark sat beside him, still in just his damp swim trunks; his hair becoming wavy from the lingering moisture.

"So, Stan has done things to your cock, right?" He asked.

Kyle winced. "Mark, please."

"I'm going to say the word, Kyle. Deal with it. So, what has he done; sucked you off, gave you a handy, what?"

"Jesus, you are so crude," Kyle said, turning his face away in a huff. "Fine," he said, refusing to look at Mark as he spoke. "He rubbed me there."

"And you came, right?"

Kyle nodded, his face burning.

"Okay, did you do that to him, too?"

Kyle shook his head.

"God, you're green. But that's fine, there's a first time for everything, right? I mean, you've already tried breath play so you're more experienced than you realize. Just the fact that you were willing to let me do that shows that you're not as reserved as you think you are."

"Are we going to do that again?"

"What, breath play? Do you want to?"

Kyle looked down at his hands shyly. "Yeah, I think so."

"Ooh, someone's becoming a freak!" Mark said, laughing. "Kyle, I'm pretty much open to anything you want to try. Within reason, of course. Honestly, I owe you an apology, I should've asked you before I just wrapped my belt around your neck, but you're just so fucking enticing. That's no excuse, but I just wanted to see you under my complete control." He peered at him. "Does that bother you?"

"No, it actually makes sense. You've already made it pretty clear that you like to be the one making the decisions."

"Am I that transparent?" Mark grinned. "Okay, so you're open to me kind of taking the lead here?"

"I think so," Kyle replied, slowly. "Just as long as you don't do anything super crazy before I'm ready."

"That's fair. But how much control do you want me to have? Like, are you suggesting a dom/sub thing here?"

Kyle looked at him, puzzled. "Dom/sub?"

"Yeah, dominant and submissive roleplay. As the dom I take full control of the situation, and as a submissive, well, you pretty much need to carry on with what you've been doing." He smiled. "You do need to curb your smart mouth a little bit, though."

"Good luck with that," Kyle said, rolling his eyes.

"See? That right there would be worth a smack on the ass."

Kyle considered this proposition. "How do you know about this stuff?" He asked, trying to buy some time, and also from genuine curiosity. Mark seemed to be full of bizarre surprises.

"I just kind of fell into it," Mark replied, vaguely. "I know people who are into it, and it just seemed to fall in line with my personality. The domination aspect of it does, at any rate."

"Why doesn't that surprise me? I know I've asked this before, but who have you done this with?"

Mark looked at him with a passive expression. "Why does that matter?"

"Hey, you're basically grilling me about my sexual history. Turnabout is fair play, isn't it?" Kyle raised his chin haughtily. "Besides, it's kind of strange that you're into this at all; you're just a teenager."

"You really shouldn't sell yourself and others short because of their age, Kyle. Doesn't it annoy you when adults do that? I'm young but that doesn't change my experiences." He crossed his arms. "Look, I made some friends when we lived in Maryland, and it was through them that I was introduced to all of this."

"But Rebecca said you don't have any friends," Kyle said, wincing after the words left his mouth. "Sorry, I didn't mean to sound like a dick."

"It's fine. Becky's right; I don't really have any friends at the moment, but I did then. Becky hung out with this group, too. In fact, she introduced me to them; she was worried that I was lonely." He rolled his eyes. "Why she would think I was lonely I have no idea. If I need people I seek them out. Otherwise, it's really not a huge concern of mine."

"How did she get mixed up with people like that?"

"Becky has her ways. Really, you're to blame for everything now that I think of it."

"What? Me? What'd I do?" Kyle asked, his eyes wide.

"You're the one who turned her into a raging deviant, Kyle, or did you conveniently forget about that?"

Kyle lay back on the bed in annoyance, hardly able to believe that all of this nonsense was being laid at his doorstep. "You've got to be fucking kidding me. You're really going to blame all of this on me because I kissed your sister when we were 8? You're really reaching right now."

"She's never been the same, honestly. Becky's wild and impulsive, and for awhile I tried to be the voice of reason, but eventually I gave into some of my own compulsions." He lay back as well, stretching out alongside Kyle. "I've been with guys and girls, Kyle, but they didn't mean anything; I just enjoyed taking chances and experimenting."

"You didn't care about any of them?"

Mark became quiet, thinking. "I did," he said, softly. "Actually, I still do. But that's a completely different story and I can't even start talking about that yet."

"Do you care about me?" Kyle asked. He stared at the ceiling, feeling awkward and stupid for asking Mark a question like that.

Mark reached out and smoothed the hair off of Kyle's forehead. "You interest me in a way I'm not used to. Usually I can take people or leave them, but I actually want to put effort into being around you. It's bizarre. Why? Would you say you care about me?"

"This is stupid, but I can't get you out of my head. I catch myself thinking about you and being confused by the things you say and do. You seriously piss me off and I know I should probably stay away from you, but I just keep running back to you. It doesn't make any sense." Kyle admitted. He turned his face towards Mark, who was still running his fingers through his hair.

"I feel like we've really gotten off topic here," Mark murmured, and he smiled. "So, what do you want to do?"

"I want to start out slow," Kyle replied. "But I'm willing to let you call the shots."

"Okay, I think I can work with that."

"Should we take a shower or something?"

Mark responded by leaning over and kissing Kyle on the lips softly. "Why? I think you're fine like this."

"Well, if you say so," Kyle said. "Sorry, I guess I'm just nervous."

"I can give you something to help with that, if you want."

"Like what?" Kyle sat up, feeling uneasy at the prospect of taking anything. He'd decided to throw caution to the wind and stop agonizing about the unknown parts of his history with Mark, but he didn't want to make a decision he'd regret either. But what difference did it make? He always ended up regretting and second guessing himself no matter what he did; especially when it came to Mark. Maybe it didn't matter if Mark gave him anything, Kyle was already intoxicated by him.

"I have some Klonopin you can take. It'll help with your anxiety but it's pretty tame, all things considered."

"Why do you have that? And don't you have Xanax, too?"

Mark shrugged. "I have my own issues just like anybody else, Kyle. So, what do you say?"

"Sure, why not? I've already come this far; I might as well go all the way."

Mark stood and went into the bathroom. When he returned he walked over to his desk and opened a bottom drawer where he pulled out a bottle of Knob Creek and a shot glass. He poured a shot of whiskey into the glass and carried it over to Kyle, his other hand clenched into a fist at his side.

"Open your mouth," he said.

"What?" Kyle asked, surprised.

"You heard me. Open your mouth."

Kyle looked at him for a moment feeling a little confused, but when he saw how serious Mark's face was he knew that he wasn't kidding. Slowly, he opened his mouth and waited.

Mark placed something on his tongue and for a moment his finger lingered on Kyle's lower lip. He pulled his hand away and Kyle could taste the bitterness on his tongue; could feel the pill Mark had left there beginning to dissolve.

Mark held out the shot glass. "Drink," he said, simply.

For a moment, Kyle resisted but then the pill was filling his mouth completely with its awful bitterness, and he reached for the glass and drank quickly. The whiskey burned through him and he almost gasped. Mark leaned down and kissed his lips.

"You should start feeling that pretty quickly," he said, straightening up.

"Probably. I didn't really have that much to eat," Kyle replied. "I wasn't very hungry."

"Fussy little bird," Mark smirked. He poured another shot of whiskey and knocked it back, grimacing. Looking around, he frowned. "It's too bright in here." He went to the light switch and flipped it off, plunging the room into semi-darkness; the fish tank in the corner throwing off a murky glow. Kyle noticed a small lamp on the bedside table, and it too was illuminated but its light was weak.

"Can I at least freshen up just a little?" Kyle asked, timidly. His skin was sticky from the hot tub and it was a sensation he could barely stand.

"I guess so," Mark replied. "It'll give that Klonopin a little extra time to kick in. Just don't take too long."

"I won't." Kyle rose from the bed, already feeling slightly woozy from the whiskey sloshing around in his almost empty stomach. Now he kind of regretted picking at his food the way he had. He managed to make it to the bathroom and closed the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment. Across the room he caught sight of his reflection in the large mirror and he studied it; his large eyes and messy hair. He was surprised to see that he didn't look any different, even though he'd pretty much made the decision to sleep with Mark that night.

Fleeting thoughts of Stan rose in his mind but he pushed them away. He'd always assumed that he'd lose his virginity with him, but now he wasn't sure if that was the best idea. He knew that his first time was going to be messy and awkward, and he was most likely going to make a fool of himself, so didn't it make more sense to do it with someone he didn't necessarily love? There was also the primal searing heat that drew him to Mark no matter how hard he resisted, and he was excited at the prospect of giving himself to him, even though thoughts of Stan made him want to cry. On this particular night he decided to give into what his body wanted, and that meant overriding his tender, foolish heart.

He went to the sink and splashed his face with cool water, rubbing away the chlorine and sweat. Wetting a washcloth, he rubbed the back of his neck and his chest, and then moved to his arms and his stomach. He stared resentfully at his skinny frame, at the rib bones pressing against his skin and his prominent clavicle. Kyle hated being delicate and hoped that Mark wouldn't be repulsed by the sharp angles of his body. He'd said that he'd liked Kyle's body in the past, but how could he tell if he was telling the truth or mocking him?

Kyle rubbed his skin until it was pink and by the time he was done he started to feel a little off. He was finding it hard to move without almost falling, and he had to catch himself on the counter to steady himself. His head felt heavy and his brain was fuzzy; is this what Klonopin did to you? A faint sense of euphoria was growing at the edges of his brain, and the little thoughts that nagged at him and made him worry started to fade away.

Opening the bathroom door, he lingered in the doorway and waited for Mark to notice him, and he could feel a goofy smile pulling at his mouth. Mark had been sitting on the bed scrolling through his phone when he looked over and saw Kyle, and he set his phone aside. Standing, he came over to Kyle and put a hand on his hip.

"How are you feeling? Better?" He asked.

Kyle fell into his arms and giddily started kissing Mark's throat, his head spinning. His thoughts were becoming a haze and he didn't care; he just wanted to keep floating and tasting Mark's skin. He licked Mark's neck, dragging his tongue down and along his collar bone.

"I'll take that as a yes," Mark said, softly. "Come on."

Taking Kyle's hand, he led him to the bed where he instructed him to lie down. Kyle lay against the pillows, reveling in their softness, and was aware of the mattress sinking down beside him as Mark knelt on it. Suddenly, Mark was straddling him and Kyle could barely make out his face in the muted light emitted from the bedside lamp and fish tank; but he could feel Mark grasping his wrists and drawing them upward and above his head. Holding them tightly in both hands, Mark began to tease Kyle with his tongue until he was almost in agony; licking along his jaw and down his neck and even in the small indention in between Kyle's collar bones. Abruptly, he stopped licking and he was kissing Kyle's nipples, and he almost cried out when Mark's teeth nipped at the tender erect flesh.

"Please," he gasped, and he tried to fight against Mark's grip on his wrists.

Mark responded by dropping one of his hands, the other one more than capable of holding both of Kyle's slender wrists at once. He gripped Kyle's face, forcing Kyle to listen as he spoke softly.

"I know you're new to this, Kyle, and I know I promised that we'd start out slow, but you can't fight me like this, okay?" He became silent for a moment. "Here, I know what will help." His hold on Kyle's face tightened. "Stay still until I come back."

Kyle nodded, and now he was really floating; his head filling up with a pleasant softness that made it easier to obey. In his hazy state he only wanted to please Mark; to follow his commands. Mark released his wrists and Kyle could vaguely hear him walking away and then he heard a drawer open and shut. Time skipped forward and Mark was back, and Kyle felt a coldness lock around one wrist and his arm was being lifted and secured so that he couldn't move it. Before he could ask what was happening, the same icy sensation had wrapped itself around his other wrist and it too was being drawn up and secured.

He managed to lift his fuzzy, heavy head to see what was holding him tight and he saw the bedside light glinting off of two sets of silver handcuffs; each wrist had been locked into place on the corners of the headboard behind him. Giggling, Kyle tried to pull his arms down, thinking that Mark was somehow playing a joke on him but the handcuffs merely strained against the ornate wooden headboard, and he knew that this was real. Kyle pulled again but he was trapped, and a faint wisp of fear came to life inside of him.

"You can pull all you want, Kyle," Mark said, softly. "You won't be going anywhere."

Kyle could only whimper and he arched his back, trying in vain to free himself. Closing his eyes, he tried to steady himself and get control of his ragged breaths, and he could hear his heart pounding a frenzied staccato in his ears. Once again, he could feel Mark's hands sliding over his skin, and he melted under that aggressive touch; at the incessant need he had inside to be claimed even though he was afraid. Mark stroked Kyle's cheek and kissed him deeply, and Kyle eagerly met his tongue with his own when it slid between his lips. Mark kissed his mouth like he was a glass of rich red wine, and every moment his lips lingered there he became drunk with Kyle's flavor.

Through a haze of kisses and Mark biting at his neck with little nips, Kyle could feel a hand snaking down his belly and under the waistband of the swim trunks he was still wearing. Recklessly, he twisted his body away but Mark pushed him back down, and his hand continued its journey until it rested on a part of Kyle that not even Stan had touched with his bare hand. Turning his face away, he could barely stand the sensation of having Mark touch him there, and he could feel himself becoming aroused; almost painfully so. Involuntarily, he moaned, and the sound was like the most secret part of his desire becoming real and undeniable.

Mark rubbed the shaft of Kyle's cock until he was hard and begging for release, but Mark placed a finger on Kyle's lips and he told him no, not yet; it was too soon. He took his hand away and Kyle lifted his hips, silently begging him to keep going, but instead, Mark reached up and hooked his fingers in the waistband of Kyle's shorts and slowly pulled them down. Kyle could feel them being drawn down over his hips and along his thighs until finally they'd been removed completely, and he was naked in front of Mark; without even the ability to use his hands to cover himself.

Running his hands over Kyle's hip bones, Mark caressed the sensitive, tender skin of Kyle's inner thighs and slowly pushed his legs apart. Weakly, Kyle tried to stop him, but Mark easily spread his legs despite Kyle's ineffectual protests.

"So, has Stan ever done this?" Mark asked, and before Kyle could respond he felt Mark's mouth sliding over his cock and he convulsed, pulling against the handcuffs and their metallic scraping against the headboard filled the room. Moaning, Kyle tried to shut his legs but Mark pushed them open, his strong hands kneading the taught flesh as he sucked on Kyle, drawing him in and out of his mouth; and his wet tongue was sliding and swirling over the head. Gasping, Kyle began to pant as the delicious friction created by Mark's mouth started building up until he was sure he was going to explode.

Kyle was on the cusp of coming when Mark drew back and stopped. He was still gripping Kyle's thighs and his thumbs were rubbing the sensitive skin there, but he left Kyle whimpering and straining against the handcuffs; arching his hips and lifting his pelvis; wordlessly begging Mark to end his torment.

"Tell me what you want, Kyle," Mark said, and he kissed along Kyle's inner thighs; lapping gently with his tongue at his scrotum.

"I want you to keep going!" Kyle gasped and his head lolled on the pillow. His head was a mixture of fog and torment and desperate need, and he could feel drool escaping from the corner of his mouth. "Please," he begged, and he didn't care how pathetic he sounded.

"Tell me you want to come and I'll take care of you," Mark said, and his tongue lingered for an agonizing moment on the tip of Kyle's cock; lapping up the pre-cum glistening there.

"I want to come!" Kyle yelled.

Mark answered by taking Kyle fully into his mouth, and Kyle could feel his cock brushing against the back of Mark's throat and he almost exploded there and then, but Mark was pulling back and Kyle was lost in a feverish agony that consumed his entire body. He lifted his hips again, trying to force himself into Mark's mouth but Mark regained control by gripping Kyle's hips and setting the pace. His tongue ran along the bottom of Kyle's cock and he shivered, and then Mark's fingers were biting into the skin of Kyle's hips and he was pulling Kyle into his mouth over and over until finally Kyle came and it was a sensation that took his breath away; and for a moment he thought he was going to pass out. Kyle's orgasm burned through him in dizzying waves that rocked his body and he was aware that he was moaning low in his throat. Vaguely he could feel himself continuing to come, and Mark was lapping it up and swallowing it, his hands still holding Kyle's hips; and somewhere in his haze Kyle knew that he would have bruises on his skin in the morning from Mark's fingertips.

Finally, Kyle was spent and he felt his entire body dissolve in an overwhelming fatigue. He lay back against the pillows and gasped for air, and his brain was awash with a rosy darkness that he wouldn't mind getting lost in forever. He closed his eyes as he tried to get control of his wildly beating heart, and he could feel Mark crawling across him and coming to rest on his chest. Mark's lips settled on his mouth and he could taste himself there and he was overcome by how erotic that was; tasting his come on somebody's else's tongue as it pushed into his mouth.

"You do know we aren't done, right?" Mark murmured. Kyle could only moan in response and he pulled against the handcuffs, even though he knew it was a useless endeavor. His legs were still spread apart and he could feel Mark's fingers stroking his cock again, but then they were drifting down and over his scrotum until they finally settled on his anus. Kyle's eyes shot wide open even through his fatigue he managed to fight and pull against his restraints.

Mark continued to touch him there, his finger swirling around but not entering Kyle. He took his hand away and there was enough light in the room for Kyle to see Mark bring his fingers to his mouth and lick them. Once they were slick with his saliva, he brought them back to Kyle's most secret place, and he caressed the area, and Kyle could feel the slick moisture on Mark's fingers. Slowly, Mark slid a finger inside of Kyle and Kyle moaned and tried to pull away; somehow feeling more exposed and vulnerable with this invasion than Mark wrapping his mouth around his cock. Mark soothed him with a tender kiss on Kyle's panting mouth as he continued to delve inside of him, and Kyle moaned despite himself.

With agonizing slowness and care, Mark slid a second finger inside of Kyle; opening him up and readying him for more. Kyle turned his face away and rested it on his arm, and drool slid from his mouth and onto his skin. He'd never felt so open and full, and while he was humiliated at the idea of Mark having his fingers inside of him, he found himself becoming hard again, and threads of ecstasy swam through his bloodstream until he wanted to cry. The culmination of the Klonopin, the whiskey, Mark's finger's, the vulnerability of being handcuffed and helpless almost overtook him to the point where he was rendered incoherent.

Finally, he was sobbing and begging Mark to hurry, but Mark was still sliding his fingers (three of them now) in and out of Kyle with a languidness that was almost savage but without warning, he stopped, and his fingers withdrew.

"Do you want me to continue?" Mark asked.

"Yes," Kyle said, and he almost didn't recognize his desire-drenched voice; what was he becoming. "Please, keep going."

"Here, then," Mark said, and he placed his open palm against Kyle's mouth. "Lick my hand until I tell you to stop."

Obediently, Kyle licked Mark's hand until he told him that was enough, and he could taste himself on Mark's hand too; his flavor was all over Mark's flesh and the thought drenched his mind with arousal. He was able to lift his head enough to see that Mark had removed his own swim trunks and he was rubbing Kyle's saliva all over his own erection.

Knowing what was about to happen, Kyle closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the pillows. He could feel Mark lifting his legs and parting them, and he could feel his bent legs resting on Mark's forearms. There was a warm pressure pushing against the area that Mark had so slowly prepared and then he felt Mark entering him with careful little thrusts; each one more agonizing than the last. The fullness of having Mark inside him took his breath away and Kyle moaned a guttural sound deep in his throat. Suddenly he was nothing but a sexual being, comprised solely of heat and sweat and this aching stretching sensation that threatened to undo him completely.

Mark was moving above him now and his grunts as he thrust into Kyle made him become completely hard again. Kyle wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around Mark's long back but the sensation of being completely at his mercy and pinned to the headboard was undeniably breathtaking. Mark lifted Kyle's legs over his shoulders and suddenly he was so deep inside Kyle that he was writhing from the hot, steady strokes that were starting to come faster and faster now. Mark leaned down and kissed Kyle's mouth savagely, and the overwhelming heat and friction that had grown between them finally boiled over, and Mark was gasping against Kyle's mouth as he came. He rocked inside of Kyle in delicious, hard strokes and Kyle could feel a wet heat filling him, and Mark was kissing him again, and as he finished he bit Kyle's lip, and he could taste warm blood spreading over his tongue.

Mark collapsed on top of him and Kyle could only press back into the pillows, blood dripping down his chin and sweat covering his body; he could only assume it was a combination of his own and Mark's. Exhaustion gripped his body in its fist but it was a pleasant sensation; his muscles were burning from being stretched and tested.

Mark reached up and licked some of the blood off of Kyle's lip and lapped it away from his chin. He rested his head against Kyle's trembling chest and he kissed the skin there.

"So, I guess this means you're mine now, huh?" He asked, and Kyle could feel Mark's mouth curving into a smile against his flesh. Before he could respond, Kyle was being drawn away into a kind of comforting darkness, and before he knew it, he was free-falling into a swirling oblivion; an event horizon that consumed his mind and body completely.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I guess I lied. I'm just a giant pervert, you guys, lmao.

**A darker dream**  
**That has no ending-**  
**That's so unreal**  
**You believe that it's true.**  
**A dance of death-**  
**Out of a mystery tale-**  
**The frightened princess**  
**Doesn't know what to do....**

**-Dangerous Game from Jekyll and Hyde**

*********

When Kyle came to, the room was still mostly dark save for the small bedside lamp and the fish tank frothing softly. He felt groggy and slow as he looked around, but he was also filled with a lazy tranquility. He'd been released from the handcuffs and he was covered by Mark's navy blue comforter, but when he lifted back the blanket he saw that he was still naked. Looking over, Mark was asleep beside him. The way he was stretched out on his side made him look like a snoozing, satisfied lion; one hand curled next to his face.

Sitting up, Kyle touched his wrists idly, where the skin was tender from rubbing against the cuffs. His head was still heavy and he was awash with weariness, but he managed to slide his legs over the edge of the bed and he stood. Taking a cautious step, his legs were weak but they held his weight and he managed to make it to the bathroom. Ignoring the mirror this time, he urinated and the sound seemed too loud in the silent room, and suddenly he was acutely aware that it was the middle of the night and that he was naked in Mark's home and they had had sex. The thought crashed in on him like a freight train, and the weight of it took his breath away.

Washing his hands, he looked up and caught flashes of his body in the mirror but he refused to look at his face. In the soft glow of the bathroom he saw faint red streaks on his wrists. He flushed at the memory of being restrained, of being at the mercy of Mark's whims, and he could feel ghostly hands rubbing his skin; light kisses being pressed on the insides of his thighs. He was slowly waking up now, and vague aches were present in new places; a throbbing in his arms and on his hips. The most profound ache came from a place that Kyle didn't even want to consider, and he could remember Mark claiming him with those hard, determined thrusts.

He washed the rest of his body, blushing at the act of wiping away the traces of Mark that had been left behind. He wanted to take a shower but he didn't want to run the risk of waking up Mark; especially when Kyle really felt like being alone for awhile. He slipped the boxers on that he'd folded and set aside when changing into Mark's swim trunks, but opted not to put on his discarded polo shirt. Stepping out of the bathroom, he tiptoed across the room and pulled one of Mark's tshirts from his dresser drawer and put it on. He figured borrowing a shirt wasn't a huge deal considering Mark had been inside him less than a few hours before.

Glancing over, he saw that Mark was still fast asleep; his soft breaths stealing across the room with every rise and fall of his naked chest. Kyle still felt weary, but his mind was an alert animal, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep even if he tried. Not wanting to disturb Mark, he quietly left the room, deciding he would go down to the kitchen or living room to collect his thoughts. He'd grabbed his phone from his pant's pocket and carried it with him, wondering if maybe Stan had texted him after getting off work.

He descended the staircase and was surprised to see soft light emanating from the kitchen when he got to the bottom. Entering the room, he saw a tea pot and two cups sitting on the counter, but there was no one there. The clock over the stove flashed red and he could see that it was after 3 am. He continued on into the living room, where he was startled to see Rebecca laying on the couch, dressed in her white robe and her curly hair down and wild. The Christmas tree was illuminated and it cast its pearly light across her face, making it clear that she was surprised to see Kyle too.

"Kyle?" She asked, sitting up. "I didn't know you were spending the night." Rebecca curled her legs underneath herself while tucking her robe around her. "Come sit with me, I could use some company." She patted the place beside her on the couch and smiled, beckoning to him.

Feeling shy, Kyle was reluctant to join her, afraid that she'd be able to tell that he'd just slept with her brother, but he inwardly chastised himself for being so paranoid.

No one gives a shit about your sex life; get over yourself, he thought. Making his way over, he sat beside her on the couch and saw that a small fire was burning in the fireplace; the orange and yellow flames in the process of dying down. How long had Rebecca been down here by herself?

"Mom got home just a little while ago," Rebecca said, almost like she could read Kyle's thoughts. "We had some tea and she told me about her day. Sometimes it feels like I get to see her as much as my father; which is, of course, never." She laughed a little. "I can't fault her, though. At least she's trying to do the right thing and help people." Her voice was soft and laced with a small touch of sadness. Looking at Kyle, she put a hand on his leg gently. "So, I'm guessing you couldn't sleep."

Kyle nodded.

"Do you want some tea? I think there's still some left."

"No, thanks. I'm okay, I think," Kyle replied.

"I'm sure Mark's sleeping like the dead," she said. "He's never had a problem with that; he can pretty much drift off and sleep through anything."

"Yeah, he didn't even move when I got up and used the bathroom," Kyle replied, and he smirked. "He's sleeping the sleep of the innocent up there."

Rebecca laughed. "I've heard many words used to describe Mark but innocent has never been one of them. I think he sleeps soundly because he doesn't let things bother him. If he decides to do something he's fine with it, and if other people have a problem with it, well," she shrugged. "Fuck 'em, right?"

"I don't think I have the ability to be quite so cavalier," Kyle said.

"So, were you two burning the midnight oil up there?" Rebecca asked, as she lifted her hair from her neck and held it up. She raised an eyebrow.

"I guess you could say that," he replied, shifting a little. The aches in his body were making it hard for him to get comfortable.

"Hey, what happened to your mouth?" Leaning forward, Rebecca looked closely at Kyle's face, her eyes narrowed. "Did you bite your lip? It has a cut."

Kyle reached up and touched his mouth, remembering how Mark had bit it as he came, and how he'd licked up the blood. His mind strayed to something Mark had said when they'd finished, right before Kyle had fallen asleep: "I guess you're mine now, right?" He almost shivered at the way Mark had asked that question; like it was just a formality and he already knew the truth anyway.

"Kyle? Kyle, are you okay?" Rebecca was asking, bringing him back to himself.

"Yeah, sorry. I feel a little out of it."

"I can tell." She glanced at him. "Did Mark give you something to help you sleep?"

Kyle nodded. "Yeah, I was feeling a little anxious." He shrugged. "I'm naturally high-strung, I guess."

"You don't say." She became quiet, her face pensive. Minutes passed as they sat there in silence, lost in a brown study.

"It's nice that Mark finally made a friend here," she said, breaking into Kyle's thoughts. Something in Rebecca's voice made Kyle wonder if she actually meant what she said. "It's always been us against the world for the longest time."

"He made it sound like you two have kind of been at odds lately," he ventured to say, hoping he wasn't stepping over a line.

She sighed. "It's been rough the past few weeks. My father has really been jerking me around and mom is working even more than she normally does. I guess I've been lashing out because I'm kind of lonely here." Standing up, she went and adjusted one of the ornaments on the tree. "I mean, I want to be happy that Mark and you became friends, but I can't help feeling a little left out. Isn't that stupid?"

Kyle shook his head. "Not at all. I think it makes perfect sense."

Rebecca went and sat in front of the fireplace, with her back against the flames. With the light behind her her brown curls glowed richly, but her face was partially in shadow. "I'm finally making friends with Wendy and the other girls, but Mark makes it so hard for me get out on my own and talk to people; especially guys."

"I guess he just wants to protect you," Kyle replied. "At least, that's how he made it seem to me. He doesn't want you to get hurt."

"Yeah, I'm sure that's what he wanted you to think," she said. "But, believe me, Mark's motivations aren't that cut and dry, and I wouldn't even know how to start explaining them to you." She sighed. "What makes it worse is that I'm kept in a cage but he gets to-" she stopped, and with her face in shadow it was hard for Kyle to make out her expression. He waited for her to continue, but she was quiet for a time.

"Can I ask you something?" She asked.

"Sure," Kyle said, her tone making him a little nervous.

"What's your relationship with my brother, Kyle? Like, are you guys just friends, or what?"

Kyle's heart started thudding rapidly at her question, and he groped for an answer. What was his relationship with Mark? They certainly weren't dating, at least, he didn't think they were. Kyle didn't even know if he'd classify them as friends. These thoughts were very unsettling considering Mark had just taken his virginity, and what was more disturbing was the fact that Kyle couldn't wait to do more with him.

He shrugged helplessly. "I honestly don't know how to answer that question."

"What do you mean?" Now Rebecca's voice had an edge to it. "Either you're friends or you're more than that, so which is it?"

Suddenly, Mark walked into the room wearing a pair of boxers; his hair disheveled. Yawning, he stared at them.

"What the hell are you guys doing up? It's the middle of the night."

"We couldn't sleep so we were just talking," Rebecca replied.

"What is there to talk about at 3 am?" He asked, going to sit in his customary wingback chair. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced at Kyle and grinned.

"I have a shirt just like that," he teased.

"Well, I didn't want to put my polo back on," Kyle explained, lamely.

"Why couldn't you sleep?" Mark asked, looking at Rebecca.

"I have a lot on my mind," she said.

"Can I help?" He asked, yawning again.

"No, I don't think you can," she said, coolly. She sat a moment but she couldn't seem to keep still, and she fidgeted in her seat, clearly agitated at Mark's sudden presence. "Actually, I'm starting to feel tired," she finally announced, and she stood. "I'm going to call it a night. 'Night."

She stood and left the room, leaving Kyle and Mark to stare after her.

"Well, that was abrupt," Mark said. "What were you two talking about anyway?"

"She wanted to know what kind of relationship we have," Kyle replied, feeling uncomfortable.

A strange look passed over Mark's face at Kyle's words. "What did you tell her?"

"I didn't tell her anything, Mark. I have no idea what the hell our relationship is. Do you?" He countered.

"I'm not even there yet, Kyle," Mark replied. "Can you at least let me wake up a little bit here? I'm kind of tired from deflowering you earlier."

"Can you please not say things like that? This is already embarrassing enough," Kyle said, covering his face with his hand.

"What's embarrassing about any of this? We had sex, it was great. Get over it." Mark put his hand on his chest and his face filled with mock horror. "Unless you're telling me that the earth didn't move for you too?"

"Okay, now I know you're just fucking with me so knock it off," Kyle snapped.

"Actually, I do want to make sure you're okay, Kyle," Mark replied, his face serious now. "I mean, it was your first time and that's pretty important. How are you feeling?"

Kyle blushed. "I feel fine, I guess. I mean, I'm a little sore but I figured that was just part of the process or whatever," he rubbed his wrists. The red streaks were becoming darker, with little hints of violet threading their way across his skin.

Mark watched him. "Sorry about that. I'm not really a fan of those ridiculous handcuffs with the fabric or feathers on them. Those are actually police grade." He leaned forward and reached for Kyle's arm, inspecting it closely. "I hope it doesn't hurt too much."

"It does, a little. But, to be honest, I kind of like it," Kyle peered at him. "Is that weird?"

"To some people, maybe, but I think it's incredibly sexy," Mark replied, smiling widely. "I'm starting to think that you're perfect for all of this."

"All of what?"

"All of the plans I have for you," Mark replied, sitting back down. "I'm not going to tell you everything I want to do, of course. Really, where's the fun in that?"

"But you can't tell me what this means?" Kyle asked, gesturing between the two of them.

Mark shook his head, his face deadpan. "No, I can't. Why do we have to define anything right now anyway? We're just starting out."

"I don't know, but Rebecca seemed pretty concerned."

"I'm sure she did, but I'll deal with her, Kyle," Mark replied. "Don't worry about that. Why are you down here anyway? If you couldn't sleep why didn't you wake me up?"

"I kind of wanted to be alone so I came down here. I had no idea your sister would be sitting on the couch."

"I didn't peg you as the love 'em and leave 'em type," Mark said, stretching his arms above his head with such intensity that he shivered.

"Give me a break, Mark. I was just trying to collect myself. Besides, you were sleeping so peacefully I didn't want to bother you." Kyle picked up his phone and turned it on; the display read 3:30 am.

"Oh, did you need to call Stan and fill him in on everything?" Mark asked, his face deceptively innocent.

"Fuck off, Mark," Kyle replied. He was disheartened to see that Stan hadn't tried to call him, nor had he sent any texts. He tossed the phone aside and stood up, feeling annoyed by Mark's baiting and what he could only assume was Stan's indifference; not that he could blame him for being distant.

"What's wrong? Lover's quarrel?" Mark asked.

"Stop asking me about Stan, okay? I've already told you that he's none of your business," Kyle replied, walking past Mark towards the Christmas tree. There was an ornament that was slightly askew and it was deeply distracting to Kyle in his agitated frame of mind. Abruptly, Mark reached out and grabbed Kyle's wrist as he passed, and he pulled him onto his lap.

"Sorry, but I'd have to disagree with that statement, Kyle," he said, still holding him tightly. "I'm pretty sure that 'none of your business' bullshit flew out the window the moment I was inside of you."

"You've got to be kidding me," Kyle replied, wincing as Mark squeezed the burgeoning bruises circling his arm. "You don't get to make decisions like that."

"Don't you think open communication is pretty important if we're going to be fucking each other?" Mark asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Could you please not call it that? Why do you have to be so crude?"

"Because I like it."

"Well, I don't," Kyle sniffed, trying unsuccessfully to pull away. He felt Mark's other arm snaking around his body and he lifted Kyle's t-shirt; his hand rubbing his bare skin. Kyle arched his back involuntarily at the sensation.

"I like that you're so polite," Mark said, continuing to stroke Kyle's skin. "I even like how prissy you are; it makes what I do to you that much more fun." He lifted Kyle's arm and kissed his knuckles softly. "So, have you told Stan about what we did?"

"No," Kyle replied, his heartbeat increasing at being on Mark's lap; his lips brushing the skin of his hand and at the sensation of being held so close. "I can't tell him that. I wouldn't even know what to say."

"I could tell you what to say, Kyle," Mark purred, and his dark eyes were calm but cold. "Tell Stan that I shackled you to my bed and I fucked you until you couldn't even think straight."

"How would you even know if I couldn't think straight? You act like you're inside my head," Kyle said, his face burning at Mark's vulgar synopsis.

"Don't you think I am? I saw your face, Kyle; I saw the way you responded to what I was doing. You could barely speak so I'm pretty sure rational thought flew out the window the moment I started." He let go of his arm and touched Kyle's mouth, where the lip was puffy and tender. "I've even tasted your blood; I mean, you have to realize how far down the rabbit hole we've already gone."

Kyle pulled away so Mark couldn't touch his lip anymore, but he managed to grab his face; holding him firmly by the chin so he couldn't turn his head. "Stop resisting, okay? You had your chance to do that and you've clearly made your decision, right?"

Kyle looked into Mark's eyes; eyes that were dark except for the reflection of the Christmas lights, and he knew he was right. He willed himself to relax and he lowered his head, succumbing yet again.

"That's better," Mark said, softly. "Kiss me." He drew Kyle's face down to meet his, and Mark kissed his lips, almost like he was solidifying a deal; an unspoken agreement that Kyle would obey without further protest. "Let's go back to my room."

Nodding, Kyle allowed himself to be led out of the living room, Mark holding his hand loosely as they climbed the stairs and walked down the hallway to his room. Kyle heard a door shut somewhere across the house, and he turned his head at the sound.

"Becky's room is in the eastern wing of the house," Mark explained. "I figured she'd be asleep by now, though. She's so difficult when she gets into a mood." He closed the door softly behind them, the telltale sound of the lock clicking in place. "Usually she won't shut up about whatever's bothering her so I'm not sure why she's being so closed off."

"She did say something about being frustrated with you," Kyle said, as Mark led him over to the bed and instructed him to sit.

"With me?" He asked.

"She doesn't like that you make it so hard for her to make friends," Kyle said, shrugging.

"What the hell does that even mean? She went over to Wendy's house yesterday and I didn't have an issue with it at all."

"Yeah, but you make it hard for her to, you know, date."

"Jesus, this bullshit again. I don't want her getting tangled up with losers, which I've told her point blank." Mark shook his head like he was getting incredibly fed up with this line of discussion.

"Well, to be fair, she doesn't get to dictate who you spend time with," Kyle said.

"That's because I don't have the same history as her. Kyle, you don't want to know all the shit she's gotten herself into. She only has herself to blame, honestly."

"You said you fucked around in the past too, though."

"Yeah, well, not nearly to the same extent as her. Trust me." Mark exhaled. "Let's stop talking about this, okay? This is just getting on my nerves."

"Whatever you say," Kyle said.

"Come on, we're going to take a shower," he announced, grabbing Kyle's hand.

"What, now? In the middle of the night?" Kyle asked, walking into the bathroom behind him.

"Yeah, middle of the night showers are the best," Mark replied, turning on the water. "Especially when you're with another person." He tested the water with his hand until it was a temperature he liked. Turning around, he raised an eyebrow at Kyle. "Take off your clothes."

Kyle crossed his arms and looked around the room, which was lit by a soft bulb that glowed through a gold glass covering; creating a warm atmosphere. It wasn't like the harsh lighting created by naked white bulbs, but it was still too bright in the room for Kyle's tastes.

"What now?" Mark asked, noticing Kyle's hesitation.

"It's just so bright in here," Kyle said.

"For real, Kyle? I've fucked you, and now you're worried about me seeing you naked while we take a shower?" Frowning, he stepped towards Kyle. "Quit being shy and take off your clothes."

"Fine, just give me a second," Kyle said, reaching for the hem of his shirt. Reluctantly, he pulled it up and over his head. Throwing it aside, he put his hand on his hip and stared at Mark, who was still watching him. "Oh, I'm sorry, am I not moving quickly enough for you?"

"No, you're not," Mark said, and he reached out and yanked Kyle's boxers down before he could protest. Leaning in front of him, he slid a hand up Kyle's thigh where it settled on his left ass cheek. Smiling, Mark gave it a light squeeze. "Do you just enjoy being difficult?"

"I thrive on it," Kyle said, stepping out of the boxers and shifting away so Mark was forced to let go of him. Feeling awkward, he rushed into the shower so he could turn away from Mark, whose eyes had been studying Kyle like he was a bug under a magnifying glass. The warm water sluiced over his body and he watched as the steam fogged up the glass walls of the shower, effectively cutting off Mark's ability to see him.

"Did you want me to turn up the water?" Mark asked, stepping in behind him. "Or is this hot enough?"

"It's fine," Kyle replied, keeping his body turned away. He was painfully aware that his ass was on full display for Mark to ogle but it couldn't be helped. After a moment, he felt Mark's arms sliding around his stomach, and he brushed his lips on Kyle's shoulder.

"Isn't this nice?" Mark murmured, close to Kyle's ear.

Kyle nodded, still feeling shy, but enjoying the shiver that raced through his skin when Mark kissed along his shoulder and up his neck.

"Turn around," Mark said, biting Kyle's earlobe softly.

Slowly, Kyle turned to face Mark, who wrapped his arms around him again. The water was washing over Mark's hair, plastering it against his skin and droplets were dripping down his face onto Kyle's. Pulling Kyle close, Mark kissed his forehead.

"I don't know why you're so weird about me seeing you naked," he said. "I like your body." He kissed along Kyle's jawline. "A lot."

"It's just strange," Kyle replied. "You go your whole life making sure people don't see you naked and then all of a sudden you're supposed to be cool about getting naked with a total stranger. It's a lot to get used to pretty quickly."

"That's fair, but we aren't strangers, Kyle. Do I need to remind you that we-"

"Had sex, yes. I remember that," Kyle cut him off.

"I was going to say we fucked, but, yes, what you said is also accurate," Mark smirked.

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Are we actually going to wash or are you just going to keep accosting me?"

Mark's answer was to push Kyle up against the tiled wall and start kissing his mouth until Kyle was gasping, his cock partially-erect. He wound his fingers through Kyle's hair and pulled his head back sharply, coaxing his mouth open with his tongue and deepening the kiss. Mark's hand drifted down Kyle's body and he rubbed his cock until he thought he was going to come, but he stopped right before Kyle could go; leaving him frustrated and pressing against him for more.

"You're right," Mark said, in between kissing Kyle's lips. "We should wash, don't you think?"

Kyle glared at him hatefully, now fully aroused and with adrenaline rushing through his veins. Mark smiled and stepped back, grabbing a bottle of shampoo. He emptied some into his hand and then offered to do the same for Kyle, who held out his hand wordlessly; still scowling. As he washed his hair, Kyle took the opportunity to study Mark's body, suddenly realizing he hadn't really gotten a chance to check him out properly. Mark wasn't muscular the way Stan was, but he had a rugged build that led Kyle to believe he worked out on occasion. He was gracefully lean but he was hard too, and he watched the muscles in his back flex gently as Mark ran his fingers through his hair.

Kyle's eyes drifted downward when Mark turned back to him, over his sinewy belly where they settled on his penis, which was in the process of becoming soft after pushing Kyle up against the wall, where Kyle had felt it brush against his thigh; hard and ready. He didn't really have anything to compare it to, not anything from real life anyway, although he'd seen his fair share of porn, but he supposed it could be considered large. It felt large enough when it was inside of him, at least. The thought caused a twinge of arousal inside of him which he tried to ignore. He also tried to ignore the thought of how Mark's cock might compare to Stan's.

They finished washing and Kyle had to admit that a shower was a good idea; he felt lighter and relaxed. When Mark shut off the water, Kyle was ready to crawl into bed and revel in the feeling of being warm and sleepy; curled up inside Mark's down comforter. Mark, however, had different plans for him.

"What are you doing?" He asked, when Kyle had toweled off and was reaching for the shirt he'd discarded from earlier. He figured it was clean enough to wear to bed at least.

"Putting on a shirt?" Kyle asked.

"Well, yeah, I can see that, but why?"

"Why not?"

Mark just sighed. He gently took the shirt from Kyle's hands and dropped it on the floor, then he took hold of Kyle's arm and steered him back into his bedroom.

"Turn around," he instructed.

Kyle turned away, feeling flushed and apprehensive. He was still completely naked and while he was getting used to it, he still wasn't fully at ease. He obeyed, though, and waited. He heard Mark rustling with something, the sliding of a drawer, and then he was walking back towards him; his footsteps whispering across the carpet.

"Put your arms behind you," Mark said.

Kyle did as he said, but not without his apprehension rising.

"You're really testing my memory tonight," Mark said, softly, and Kyle could feel him drawing his arms closer together behind his back; his wrists touching. "Hopefully I can remember how to do this." Kyle could feel something being wrapped around his arms.

"Remember what?" Kyle asked, his voice faint.

"The single column tie," Mark replied. "It's the first knot I learned but it's been ages since I've had to use it."

Kyle lapsed into silence, not sure how to respond. He waited as Mark worked and he could feel the rope (he was sure it was rope, right?) tightening around his forearms but not so much that it hurt. After awhile, Mark seemed satisfied.

"There, I guess I remembered more than I thought. How does it feel?" He asked, letting go of Kyle. "I tied the rope higher so it doesn't bother the bruises around your wrists."

Kyle tried to draw his arms apart and found that he couldn't; Mark had tied him securely enough that he knew there was no way he was going to be able to break free. Glancing over his shoulder, Kyle looked at Mark but lowered his head when he saw how intensely Mark was staring it him; his eyes practically burning into him.

"Okay, Kyle. I need you to listen, okay?"

Kyle nodded.

"If you want to stop at any point, I want you to say 'red.' That will tell me that you've reached your limit and I need to stop what I'm doing. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Kyle replied, softly.

"Good. Now, what's the safety word, Kyle? I want to hear you say it."

"Red," he said, and he didn't recognize his voice. Who was he becoming?

"Perfect. Now," he trailed off, and Kyle could feel Mark's hands on his shoulders. They gripped his flesh and he was kissing his neck just like he'd done in the shower. Kyle moaned as Mark dragged his tongue along the curve of Kyle's neck where it faded into the top of his collar bone, and his hands fell from his shoulders down to his upper arms; his fingers digging into his skin. Drifting downward, his hands brushed over Kyle's waist and settled on his hips, where the skin was still tender from where Mark had held him before; when he'd entered and claimed him as his own.

Keeping one hand on Kyle's hip, Mark reached around and caressed the front of Kyle's thigh; dangerously close to the soft and tender flesh close to his groin. Kyle whimpered and tried to shift his hips away, but Mark held him fast and his hand continued snaking across that sensitive skin until it settled on top of Kyle's cock, which was quickly becoming hard. Kyle's eyes were closed as Mark stroked him there, and he could feel the heat building up in his blood until he thought he would lose his mind.

Mark's hand stilled and without thinking, Kyle moved his hips forward, imploring him to continue, but Mark let go of him. Instead, he moved around Kyle and kissed him slowly on his mouth; teasing him with his tongue and licking his lower lip.

"Open your eyes," he said, and reluctantly, Kyle complied. Mark sat on the edge of the bed, his legs open and his cock full erect. Vaguely, Kyle decided that it was definitely large, and he didn't really need to speculate further about the heat that Mark was packing. Mark extended his hands and grasped Kyle's hips, drawing him forward.

"Get on your knees," he instructed, his tone gentle. Mark helped Kyle drop to the floor, and he stared at him, his dark eyes drenched with a murky desire. Kyle could only imagine what he looked like to him in that moment; kneeling naked on the floor with his arms tied behind his back. Kyle waited for Mark to give him more instructions, but he stayed silent; gazing at Kyle in his subservient glory.

Without a word, Mark reached out and placed his hands on Kyle's head and he was pushing him down towards his erection, and Kyle knew exactly what he expected. Opening his mouth, he complied, and he didn't fight it when Mark slid his cock between Kyle's lips; pushing Kyle's mouth down onto his hardness until it pushed against the back of his throat. Kyle couldn't help but gag, and he reared back, coughing. He was thankful that Mark was still holding fistfuls of his hair, because if he hadn't been, Kyle would've fallen over without his arms to prop him up.

Mark straightened Kyle out and waited for him to stop coughing. Kyle could hear him laughing softly and Mark was guiding his mouth back to his cock, and Kyle could taste a small amount of cum as his tongue slid over it. The salty flavor was warm in his mouth, and Mark was pushing himself slowly into Kyle's ready wetness, and he was afraid he was going to gag again.

"Don't worry," Mark said, soothingly. "I can tell you're new at this. I won't be so aggressive this time."

With his fingers tangled in his hair, Mark pulled Kyle's mouth over his cock and then pushed him back, repeating this motion over and over, his pace quickening every so often; but never fast enough to make Kyle gag the way he did at the beginning. There were a few times where Mark got too close to the back of Kyle's throat and he would gag a little, but Mark would slide himself out of Kyle's mouth long enough to give him time to recover. Kyle's neck and back started to ache from being pulled back and forth, and there were times that he forgot about his restraints and tried to steady himself with his arms; but the ropes were always there to remind him that Mark was calling the shots.

Mark seemed to have an amazing ability to control himself, and he continued to fuck Kyle's mouth slowly, groaning as Kyle's saliva flowed over his cock and grunting at the sound of Kyle's whimpers when he went particularly deep. Tears were flowing from Kyle's eyes now, and they were mixing with his saliva and Mark's pre-cum as it escaped the corners of Kyle's mouth. Gradually, Mark picked up the pace until he was thrusting into Kyle's mouth with a much quicker rhythm, and his fingers were taut in his hair; urging him forward savagely. Now he was ignoring Kyle's gag reflex, and he was plunging into his mouth hard and fast. Though he knew it was futile, Kyle tried to arch his body away, but Mark held him tighter as he continued to fuck his mouth, and every thrust hit the back of Kyle's throat. Kyle couldn't see anything at this point through the veil of tears pouring relentlessly from his eyes.

Finally, Mark's grip on the back of Kyle's head tightened to the point where Kyle thought he might scream, and Mark's body tensed up and Kyle just knew; he knew Mark was ready, and he was pulling back helplessly. Mark gave one final, brutal thrust, and he was emptying his come into Kyle's mouth, who had no choice but to swallow it, even though he hated the taste and the way it coated his tongue. Mercifully, Mark let him go before he was done so Kyle was able to pull away, but Mark's come sprayed across his face, and it was hot on his flesh; searing across his lips and his cheek. Kyle's gasped as he reared back, and he thought that his legs would give out beneath him.

Mark's panting breaths filled the room, and he reached forward and crushed Kyle to him, and his lips found his; bruised and sensitive. Ignoring his come on Kyle's lips, Mark kissed him and drew him up from the floor, where he pushed him on his back onto the bed. Kyle lay there, with Mark's semen on his face and his hands tied fast behind his back and he never felt more exposed and aroused. He had no idea what Mark was doing to him but he loved it; he loved the rope rubbing against his skin and he loved it as Mark pulled his legs open; revealing him further. Kyle loved the sensation of not being able to move and not being able to shield himself from Mark. He looked up at Mark as he panted and knew that his eyes were giving him away more than his words ever could; that he needed to be consumed completely whether he explicitly agreed to it or not.

Through the soft darkness, Kyle saw Mark looming over him, and he felt Mark rubbing his cock even though he was ready and erect and needing him so badly. Kyle arched off of the bed when he felt Mark's wet, hot mouth close over him and he was bucking his hips as Mark drew him in and out. Mark's hands were on hips again and Kyle even enjoyed the way the skin ached there now, from being gripped and pulled; he loved Mark's hands on him, directing and guiding him. Kyle moaned with a desperate need as he felt Mark's tongue licking at the underside of his cock, sliding up and then swirling over the aching, sensitive head. Mark drew him completely into his mouth and he felt the tip of his cock brushing the back of Mark's throat and suddenly, he was overcome, and he was writhing against Mark's mouth as he convulsed and came; his cries filling up the silent room.

Finally, he was spent and they lay there in the darkness, their breaths still coming heavy and fast as they began to calm down. Kyle stretched out his arms behind his back and he relished the feeling of being helpless, and he found even the rasp of the rope against his skin erotic beyond words. The smell of their sex filled his nostrils and it was almost enough to make him want to go again, but his body was exhausted and throbbing; sleep was on the edges of his awareness and he knew he couldn't fight it much longer. Vaguely, he could see the velvety beginnings of dawn crawling through the dark blue of the early morning sky outside the windows.

"It's morning," he murmured.

Mark glanced over and he too saw the dark cerulean hints of the sun's approach and the night's decline. He groaned and sat up, but he took a moment to gaze down at Kyle, whose posture was decidedly supine in the aftermath of their erotic delectation. He slid a hand along Kyle's body and tweaked a nipple, smiling at the way he gasped.

"I guess we have to sleep eventually," Mark said, and he eased Kyle onto his stomach so he could untie him.

Later, after they had washed up and they were under Mark's dark blue comforter, Kyle could feel the pleasant and persistent throb in his arms from the rope and he couldn't help but smile. Mark's arms were wrapped around him, and even when Kyle tried to move away Mark moved with him; possessing him even in his sleep. He already knew that when he woke up in the morning or in the early afternoon, and he had time to look down at his body, at the skin that Mark had ravaged for half the night, he'd be covered in bruises. The tender places on his body were already beginning to pulse but he sunk into the sensation; he lost himself in the feeling of giving himself up to Mark completely. Who knew giving into debauchery could be so satisfying?


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How far down does the rabbit hole go?
> 
> Pretty far, apparently, lol. :D

 

> **"My darling, I have awakened you from a century's sleep, and restored your father's Kingdom. You're mine. And you won't find me such a hard master. Only a very thorough master. When you think night and day and every moment only of pleasing me, things will be very easy for you."**
> 
> **-The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty by Anne Rice**

 

Kyle woke up slowly, the sound of the shower reaching his ears and making him think it had started to rain. He kept his eyes closed for awhile as he started to warm up to the idea of getting out of bed, and vaguely he was aware that there was no way it was raining; it would be snowing, if anything. It was easy to forget how cold it was outside, nestled in Mark's blankets and cocooned in this castle far away from the ice and snow. Rising from the soft confines of sleep, his brain waking in stages, Kyle finally opened his eyes to face the day.

Mark was walking out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips, his hair moist at the ends. He noticed that Kyle was awake and smiled.

"Good morning," he said. "I was hoping you'd be awake; I left the shower running for you." He went to the dresser and started rifling through one of the drawers.

Kyle sat up and rubbed the sleep dust from his eyes, blinking them clear against the brightness of the morning. "What time is it?"

"A little after 10," Mark replied, pulling a t-shirt on. "Come on, get up and take a shower. We've almost wasted the entire morning already."

Groaning, Kyle climbed out of bed, shying away from the chilly air permeating the room. It didn't help that he'd slept naked, mainly because Mark had told him he preferred him that way. "I can't stand early risers," he muttered, making his way toward the bathroom.

"10 am is hardly early, Kyle." Mark was buttoning a pair of jeans as he spoke; finishing with that, he opened the closet to grab a hoody. "I'm not tired at all."

"You'll have to forgive me if I'm not razor sharp after being tied up half the night," Kyle retorted.

"Are you saying we need to build up your stamina? Kyle, you don't have to threaten me with a good time, you know."

"Whatever." Kyle walked into the bathroom where it was pleasantly warm, the air scented with soap and humid against his skin. Stepping into the shower, he was glad to close the door and just stand there as the water washed over his body. The aches were coming alive in him, in his skin, and the warmth helped to ease them away. It was no big surprise to look down and see the bruises on his arms and around his wrists; twisting, he could see the violet shadows left on his hips from Mark's fingers.

He lapsed into a moment of reflection as he studied his flesh, and he was brought back to another time when he'd been bathing and noticed the marks obscuring him; marring the landscape of his body. When he'd seen them before he'd been afraid and confused, and he was confused now, but exhilaration had replaced the fear; he liked seeing the bruises now. They were reminders of what he'd done with Mark, and silent promises of what they'd do in the future. It was hard for Kyle to reconcile his usual no-nonsense approach to life with this innate need to be dominated and owned by Mark, but it was there, undeniable, and he felt compelled to surrender. He smiled to himself; he supposed he already had.

His thoughts drifted to Stan and a shard of sadness entered his heart, wounding him. He missed Stan, of course; his sweetness and his loyalty. Stan's love for him was boyish and borne in childhood, so he doubted that it could travel to the dark regions he was exploring with Mark. A part of himself had awakened and when it opened its eyes, the piece of him that had hungered for Stan had fallen asleep; a raging monster was feeding inside him now, and it hungered for blood and pain and acquiescence. Kyle was in a place where Stan couldn't follow, and he didn't know how he'd ever be able to tell him anything about it; about what he'd already done.

"Kyle, are you okay in there?" Mark's voice carried through the room, startling him.

"I-I'm fine," he answered, hurriedly turning off the water. Through the glass he could see Mark's blurry form, waiting. He stepped out of the shower and quickly swathed himself with a towel.

"I just wanted to let you know that I set out a toothbrush for you and a change of clothes," Mark said, looking at him curiously. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes," Kyle said, sharply. He took a breath. "I'll be out in a minute."

"Well, okay. Let me know if you need anything," Mark said, leaving the room.

Kyle noticed that he didn't bother to close the door, which didn't surprise him. Boundaries were not exactly Mark's cup of tea. Kyle slipped into the boxers and snug green t-shirt that Mark had laid out for him. He noticed that he hadn't provided any pants but that made sense; any pair of Mark's pants would be ridiculously long on Kyle. Instead, he put on his jeans from yesterday, wincing slightly when the material touched his bruises. He brushed his teeth and tried to do something with his hair but gave it up as a lost cause; the red curls had always had a life of their own.

"Let's go out for breakfast," Mark said, when Kyle walked out of the bathroom. "Becky left a note saying she'd be gone for the day; probably with Wendy or whatever," he said, waving his hand carelessly, "and mom had an early case this morning, so it's just you and me."

"Sure," Kyle replied, digging through Mark's dresser and pulling out a pair of socks. "That sounds fine. Oh, I'm borrowing some socks, by the way," he said, holding them up for Mark to see. He sat on the edge of the bed to put them on but he paused, thinking. "Wait, where did you want to go?"

Mark shrugged. "What about Harbucks? You seem to like that place."

"I'm not even going to ask how you know that, but, still, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why?" Mark asked, raising his eyebrows.

"A lot of people go there," Kyle said, awkwardly.

"Well, it is a restaurant, Kyle. That's kind of the idea."

"I mean, a lot of my friends go there," Kyle said, looking away. Mark didn't respond for a moment and he glanced at him, and he saw that Mark's eyes were full of understanding, but irritation, too.

"What difference does that make?" He asked, softly.

"It would just be weird for everyone to see us together," Kyle tried to explain, sounding awful even to himself.

"Who cares? I don't give a shit what any of your friends think," Mark said. He was putting his belt on as he spoke, the leather whispering through the loops. "Besides, for all they know we're just friends having coffee together. What's the problem here?"

Kyle watched him put his belt on and he could feel his anxiety start to spike. None of his friends were particularly fond of Mark, and more than anything he didn't want someone seeing them together and then blabbing to Stan. He knew it didn't really matter as much now, considering Stan had broken up with him, but Kyle still didn't want to deal with all of the confusion being seen with Mark could create.

"What, are you worried about Stan seeing us?" Mark asked, pulling his belt through the buckle and beginning to fasten it. "I thought you guys broke up."

Kyle could feel himself blanch when Mark said that, and he stood up restlessly; pacing the floor. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Save it, Kyle. I know you two broke up," Mark said, running a hand through his still wet hair. "You haven't been all over each other at school, for one thing, and secondly," he smirked, knowingly, "there's no way you would've let me fuck you if you'd still been with Stan. You're a man of morals, aren't you?" He laughed.

"If you already knew we broke up why were you getting on my case about calling Stan last night?" Kyle asked, furious at the way Mark was laughing at him and the way he was always able to peg him; like there wasn't a secret he could hope to keep from him.

"It's fun to mess with you, Kyle," Mark replied, still laughing. "You take yourself so seriously; it's nice to see you at a loss for words." He walked over and kissed Kyle on his mouth before he could protest. "Besides, you're adorable when you're pissed off."

Kyle pushed him away, annoyed. "You are so fucking manipulative, Mark. Can't you just fucking be nice for two seconds?"

Mark considered the question. "Yes, on occasion, I guess. It's not really my preference. Besides," he pulled Kyle into a tight hug, "you like it when I'm mean. Don't lie."

"No, I don't," Kyle said, refusing to reciprocate the hug. "You're the reason Stan and I broke up in the first place, so stop being a fucking asshole, okay?" He managed to break away from Mark and he sat on the bed, not willing to look at him. Silence descended on the room and Kyle waited, not knowing what to do next.

"I'm sorry if I made things difficult between you and Stan," Mark finally said, and Kyle could feel the bed move as he sat next to him. He still refused to look at him, though. "That really wasn't my intention."

"Wasn't it, though?" Kyle said, crossing his arms. "You always managed to find a way to interfere; you were always fucking there."

"Mainly because I thought we were friends, Kyle," Mark said, quietly, and the sadness in his voice tore at Kyle's heart. "At least, I wanted to be, but I never knew what was going on with you."

Kyle finally turned to look at him, and he locked eyes with Mark; in the milky morning light they were velvety dark and vulnerable. "Bullshit," he said, already feeling himself beginning to crumble. "You kissed me even when you knew Stan and I were together. You just didn't care. And then, even after I told you about my suspicions, you still, you still..."

Mark put his arms around Kyle's waist and pulled him closer, slowly, as Kyle tried to find the words to finish his statement. "I'm not going to lie and say I didn't want you for myself, Kyle," he said, kissing his temple and his cheekbone; fervent little touches of his lips that set Kyle's heart to racing. "Maybe I didn't go about it in the right way, but it was always because I wanted you, period."

"Well, now you have me but at what cost?" Kyle asked, as he gave in and opened his mouth eagerly to Mark's, and their tongues were sliding together. He pulled away, sighing. "I broke Stan's heart and you're breaking mine, so I guess we both lose and you win." They continued to kiss and Kyle could feel himself becoming hard; breaking apart under Mark's touch, and he tried, desperately, to come up for air and think clearly.

"You always do this," he said, interrupting the kiss and turning away; denying Mark his lips. "I try to talk to you and you start kissing me and then we never actually finish a conversation. I'm telling you that I broke up with someone I really loved; love, actually, for you, and it doesn't seem to faze you."

"It does faze me, Kyle, but this is a lot to hear at once," Mark replied. "Can I be honest with you? I love someone, too, very much. In fact, I'm in the process of loving them and trying to deal with my feelings so I know how you feel. At least, I think I do." He stood up and it was his turn to walk the floor, desperately pacing like he wanted to outrun the feelings that were always there and waiting. "I didn't think I would start feeling this way about you, not to this extent, anyway. Sure, you mouthed off to me and I wanted to fuck you because I could tell you needed it, but now, Christ," he trailed off, still pacing.

"Wait, this all started because of what?" Kyle thought a moment, recollection dawning within him. "Are you saying you started all this because of what happened at tutoring that day? When I yelled at you?"

"Partially," Mark said. "You made an ass of me in front of everyone, Kyle. What? Did you think I was thrilled about that?"

"But, you said you agreed with me," Kyle protested. "You said I was right."

"You were," Mark said. "That doesn't mean I enjoyed being called out in front of everyone; especially over that moron, Malcolm. That kid is never going to pass Algebra, even with my help."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you need to treat him like shit," Kyle retorted.

Mark laughed. "See, there you go again; Kyle to the rescue. I'm pretty sure you'll never change."

Kyle stared at him. "You can't stand being crossed, can you? Contradicted?"

"I'm not used to it," Mark said. "When you got in my face I really just wanted to knock you out, but you're cute, so after I started talking to you I thought I could screw you down a couple pegs, and that'd help you loosen up, and it would sooth my ego." He sighed. "But then I started getting to know you and I became more invested; don't ask me why. I have fun with you, so I want to spend more time with you. Maybe it's that simple, I really don't know."

Kyle looked away, shy at the knowledge that Mark's motivations were sexual almost from the beginning, but also disturbed that they were steeped in aggression, too. But he supposed that was in line with Mark's personality, and his incessant need to be the puppeteer pulling the strings, whether they be Kyle's or anyone else he took an interest in. "How did we manage to get here, just from talking about where we should go for breakfast?" He asked, smiling a little.

"It beats the hell out of me," Mark replied, "but I'm pretty sure I need to fuck you before we go anywhere." He stopped pacing and glanced at Kyle. "How are you feeling?"

Kyle flushed, knowing what Mark was really asking. "A little sore, but it isn't too bad."

"Fine, then I can do this the way I want," Mark replied, and he was coming over to Kyle, his eyes intense and focused; his face determined. Grabbing Kyle, he kissed him, but his lips didn't linger; rather, they were hot and impatient, and Kyle could tell that Mark wasn't going to take his time during this go around.

"Stand up and turn around," Mark said, kissing Kyle's mouth fervently; his lips hard and wet and scorching.

Kyle complied wordlessly, the light inside of him lit and burning. He could feel Mark undoing his jeans and pushing them down, along with his boxers; sliding them over his hips and down his thighs. Mark pushed him towards the bed but not so he was laying down, rather, he was leaning over with his hands on the mattress; his ass up in the air. Kyle gasped when he felt Mark's fingers stretching him open, and they felt slick and wet.

"Usually, I'd like to prepare you more," Mark was saying as his fingers delved inside of Kyle, his voice deep and thick, "but if you're going to mouth off like this, you're just going to have to deal with the consequences, aren't you?"

Through the haze that had settled over his brain, Kyle wanted to ask what he'd said to illicit this reaction, but before he could even open his lips, he could feel Mark entering him; the motion fast and savage. Mark was inside of him now, and his searing thrusts rocked him forward against the bed, but he braced himself and managed to stay standing; his hands curled up in the bed covers. He could feel hands holding onto his hips, covering the bruises already there, and he moaned from feeling Mark inside of him; but he also dissolved in pleasure at the pressure of Mark's fingers on his freshly-forming battle scars.

Kyle was surprised when he realized that Mark had actually been gentle before, but this time he was plunging into him like he had something to prove. He only prayed that he could manage to hold himself up until Mark was done, but with every movement that propelled him forward, he was afraid that his legs would crumple beneath him; but he willed himself to keep going. Biting his lip, Kyle could taste blood as he opened up the cut from the night before, and the metallic flavor filled his mouth.

He was ready to start begging for leniency when Mark began speeding up, and Kyle knew that he was getting close. Mark's grip on his hip bones intensified until Kyle cried out, and suddenly Mark was groaning and rocking him forward, that familiar burning sensation filling him up until he thought he was going to ignite from the inside out. Every thrust that accompanied Mark's orgasm seemed to drive a very specific message home to Kyle; that Mark was in charge and he had no problem showing it. Whimpering, he leaned forward until his cheek was resting against the bed, and he waited until Mark was done. He closed his eyes as the sound of Mark's ragged breaths echoed around the room, and he was pulling out of Kyle, leaving him feeling wide open but so empty; wanting and used.

A sharp slap on his ass made Kyle's eyes shoot open and he was trying to stand up, but Mark's hand came to rest on the back of his neck; keeping him in place. "Hold still," he said, still breathing heavily. "I'll clean you off." Kyle heard footsteps as Mark walked away and then he was back, and a damp, warm washcloth was being passed over Kyle's skin; soothing the area and wiping away Mark's come. Mark squeezed his hip lightly and Kyle felt a kiss being pressed on the nape of his neck.

"You're okay now," Mark said. He was wiping himself down too and then he was pulling his jeans back up and buttoning them.

Kyle watched him from over his shoulder and then he eased himself off the bed, his hips and backside pulsing. He adjusted his clothing while watching Mark warily, but he was all smiles; apparently in a very good mood now that he'd gotten his rocks off.

"So, are you ready to go?" He asked, cheerfully.

"Where?" Kyle asked, accepting the hoody that Mark offered him.

"To Harbucks." Mark was grabbing his wallet and car keys from his desk, as well as his black coat.

"I told you I didn't really feel comfortable going there," Kyle said, zipping up his sweater. "Can't we go somewhere else?"

"No, Harbucks is fine," Mark replied, taking Kyle's hand and leading him out of the room. "Can you get the door? I don't like leaving it open."

Kyle closed the door but he resisted as Mark continued to pull him down the hallway. They had made it down the stairs and into the foyer before Kyle was able to get Mark's attention.

"Mark, you aren't listening to me. I don't want to go there," Kyle said. Mark was rooting through the closet for Kyle's coat. Finding it, he handed it to him.

"Kyle, you're being ridiculous. So, your friends might see us out together? And? You said yourself that you and Stan are broken up, so what does it matter that you're seen with me?"

"I just don't want to deal with it," Kyle said, stubbornly.

"What, are you ashamed to be seen with me?" Mark asked.

"No, of course not, I just-"

"Then what's the issue?" Mark cut him off and raised an eyebrow. His hand was resting on the door handle, ready to turn it.

"Fine, you win. We'll go to Harbucks," Kyle said, sighing. "But if we see anyone and they make things awkward you're going to deal with it."

"That's fine, Kyle. I've never had an issue with telling someone to mind their own fucking business," Mark replied, closing the door behind them as they stepped out into the cold. His car was waiting in the circular drive, its windows frosted with ice. Climbing in, Mark turned on the car, making sure to turn up the heat as high as it would go. Shivering, Kyle waited for it to warm up.

"Here, I'll turn on the seat warmers," Mark said.

"What kind of car is this anyway?" Kyle asked, realizing he'd never shown an interest before.

"Do you really care?" Mark asked, surprised.

"Not especially, but I just thought I'd ask."

"It's a Jaguar XJ," he replied. "My mom gave it to me when I got my license. She's always been a Jaguar enthusiast for whatever reason." He shrugged his shoulders. "It doesn't really make a difference to me either way."

Kyle nodded, admiring the buttery leather seats and the sleekness of the interior, but he wasn't terribly interested in cars either. He knew damn well he wouldn't get a luxury car when he got his license so he really didn't feel the need to become invested in them. Any car was better than walking his ass all over creation for the rest of his life.

"Finally," Mark muttered, as the vents started emitting warm air, and the biting chill was fading away. Pulling out of the drive, he hit a button on a small remote clipped to the visor above him and the gates at the bottom of the hill opened as they drove up to them. They passed through and Mark maneuvered the car out onto the road, the frosty trees and houses sliding past on either side of them.

"Are you hungry?" He asked.

"I guess so," Kyle replied. "I usually just have coffee in the morning, though."

"I'm honestly surprised you haven't just wasted away," Mark said, coming to a stop at a red light. "You have the appetite of a 45 year old trophy wife."

"That's an oddly specific comparison."

"Yeah, well, it's true. I'm starving. I think I'm going to get a bagel with cream cheese and lox."

"That sounds good, actually," Kyle commented. He was still feeling nervous about going out with Mark, so his appetite was on the fence. Another thought occurred to him out of nowhere that concerned him, too. "Hey, hold the phone. You didn't let me get off back there."

"What?"

"You got to, you know, finish when we did it before we left, but I didn't." He pouted. "That's not fair."

"You're just noticing that now? Well, it's a little late to do anything about it at the moment, don't you think?" Mark asked, looking over at him.

Kyle just looked out the window instead of responding.

"Besides, you didn't deserve to come," Mark said, matter-of-factly. "You were being punished."

Kyle whipped his head around. "Punished? For what?" He asked, his voice shrill.

"For being a smart ass. We talked about this, Kyle. Remember?" The light turned green and Mark pulled forward, avoiding a car that tried its best to cut him off. "Look at that motherfucker," he said. "Some fucking people, I swear to God."

"Don't try to change the subject," Kyle said, annoyed.

"I'm not. You have a habit of mouthing off, Kyle. What, do you think you should be rewarded for that?"

"Actually, I do. I'm not going to apologize for being exceptional when it comes to turn of phrase."

"See, that right there is why you weren't given the opportunity to come," Mark said, turning the car into the Harbuck's parking lot. "You'd be just as satisfied as I am right now if you could just knock that shit off." He parked and turned the car off.

"You aren't really going to do stuff like that every time you decide you don't like my attitude, are you?" Kyle asked, not moving to get out.

"In a heartbeat," Mark replied, opening his door. He got out and went around the car to open Kyle's door as well. "Come on, let's go."

Kyle crossed his arms and stayed seated, still pouting.

Sighing, Mark leaned down so they were face to face. "I understand that you're upset right now, okay, but let's go inside and talk about this. It's fucking -4 degrees out here and I'm hungry, too. Now move." He held out his hand.

For a moment, Kyle looked at Mark's outstretched hand with distaste but reluctantly, he took it, and climbed out of the car. The cold almost took his breath away, and suddenly he was grateful that at least the wind had died down since the day before. Mark held his hand as they walked towards the Harbucks.

"I don't think we should walk in holding hands," Kyle said, gently disentangling himself.

Mark just rolled his eyes in response and opened the door, waiting for Kyle to enter first. Kyle almost protested this gesture as well but he decided to just let it go. Walking into the Harbucks, he was relieved to see that it was pretty empty and that they'd missed the early morning breakfast crowd. His heart seized up in his chest when he saw Tweek working the front counter, though. That meant that Craig had to be around somewhere; you could bet that wherever Tweek was, Craig wasn't too far behind.

"What do you want?" Mark asked, coming to stand beside him.

"Just a latte," Kyle replied. "I don't really feel like eating right now."

"Okay. I always order too much so we can share if you change your mind. Go find a table." Mark started pulling his wallet out of his pocket.

"I'm buying this time, remember?" Kyle asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah. That's right." Mark pulled out a ten dollar bill anyway. "Here." He handed it to Kyle, who took it with a questioning look. "I want an espresso, an everything bagel with cream cheese and lox, and a cinnamon roll. I'm pretty sure all of that and your latte is going to cost more than 10 bucks, so you can supplement that with your own money."

"That's not really the same as my treating you," Kyle said, trying to hand the money back.

Mark refused to take it. "I'll go get a table; remember, espresso, bagel with lox, and a cinnamon roll. Got it?"

"I think I can remember one breakfast order," Kyle replied, annoyed.

"Sounds good," Mark walked away, leaving him alone at the counter. By this time, Tweek had noticed Kyle and he was looking at him expectantly.

"Hey, Tweek," Kyle said, walking closer. Tweek looked harried as usual, but with Craig's influence he was at least buttoning up his shirt properly these days. Kyle could see his hand shaking a little as it rested on the register.

"Morning," he replied. "What can I get for you? Ah!" He convulsed but righted himself quickly.

"Uh, yeah, I'd like a large sugar-free vanilla latte with almond milk, and then," Kyle glanced over his shoulder and saw that Mark had found a table in the corner and was looking at his phone. Suddenly, he glanced up, saw Kyle watching him, and he waved. Kyle turned back around, a little flustered now. "Um, I'll also take an everything bagel with cream cheese and lox, an espresso, and a cinnamon roll, and that's it."

"Do you want the bagel toasted?" Tweek asked as he worked the register.

"I don't know," Kyle said, even more flustered now. He glanced at Mark again, but he was absorbed in his phone. "Whatever, just toast it."

"Sure thing. Did you want a sparkling water, too? It helps cleanse the palate before drinking your espresso."

"Sure, fine. Go ahead," Kyle replied. "How much is everything?"

"That'll be," Tweek hit another button, pausing. "$20.52, please. Is this for here or to go?"

"It's for here. Can I pay part of the bill with cash and the rest on my card?" Kyle asked, opening his wallet.

"Sure, ah!" Tweek reached out his hand. Kyle hesitated for a moment but he handed Mark's ten to him, feeling uneasy. Tweek took it, punched a button on the register and then looked at him. "Okay, now you can insert your card."

Kyle paid the rest of the bill, feeling better after he'd taken care of his portion. Tweek handed him a receipt and told him the order number and then started on Kyle's latte.

"So," he said, "Stan isn't with you this morning?"

Kyle started a little. "No, I think he's probably working."

"Oh," Tweek replied, working quickly and surprisingly not knocking anything over with his shaky hands. "I didn't know you hung out with Mark."

"Well, I guess I do on occasion," Kyle said, sharply.

"Hmm." With a flourish, he spooned foam onto Kyle's latte. He placed the cup on a saucer and pushed it carefully across the counter. "There you go, ah! The rest of your order should be up shortly." He grinned at Kyle, but there was something in his expression that irked him.

"Thanks," Kyle said, picking up his cup. As he walked over to where Mark was sitting Craig walked into the shop, bringing a blast of icy air with him. Kyle could smell cigarette smoke clinging to him and he wrinkled his nose. Noticing Kyle, he stared at him in his deadpan way.

"Hey," he said, looking around. "Where's Stan?"

Kyle shifted a little and his latte sloshed over the side of the cup. Now he was starting to feel really irritated. "He isn't here," he replied.

"Oh, you're by yourself?"

"No, okay? I'm with someone else. Now if you'll excuse me." Kyle walked away, taking care not to move too quickly so he wouldn't spill more of his drink. He made it to the table where he put his cup down with a huff.

"Is there a problem?" Mark asked, looking up.

"Tweek and Craig are here," Kyle snapped, blowing on his latte. "I told you this was a bad idea."

"Will you relax? I'm sure they don't give a crap about what we're doing," Mark said, setting his phone on the table.

"Right, that's why they both asked me where Stan is," Kyle replied. He picked up his drink and took a timid sip.

"Just ignore them then."

"That's easier said than done."

Suddenly, Tweek called out their order number, and Kyle set his drink down; preparing to stand up. Mark placed a hand on his arm, firmly.

"I'll get it," he said, rising. Kyle watched him as he made his way to the counter where Tweek was waiting. Craig was leaning against the display case, looking at Mark, too. Mark went to pick up the tray but he stopped a moment, seemingly saying something to them, but Kyle couldn't make out his words. Their shocked expressions spoke volumes, though. Craig even looked angry, and Kyle knew it wasn't everyday that he displayed any kind of emotion.

"What did you say to them?" Kyle asked, when Mark had made it back to their table and sat down.

"I told them to mind their own fucking business," Mark said, lightly. "You bought me a water, too?"

"Uh, yeah," Kyle managed to say. "It's supposed to cleanse your palate or something. Before you drink your espresso. Wait, you said that to them?"

"Well, that's interesting," he said, setting it aside. "But unnecessary. Are you going to want some of this?" He held up his bagel.

"Maybe," Kyle replied, impatiently. "Mark, what did you say to them exactly?"

"I already told you, to fucking mind their own business. Oh, this is good," he said, after taking a big bite of bagel.

"Just like that?"

Mark held up a finger while he chewed and swallowed. "Yeah, just like that. I already told you I have no problem telling people to stay in their lane, Kyle. What, did you think I was kidding?" He took another bite.

"Well, no, but I didn't think you'd put it quite that way," Kyle replied, and he took another tiny sip of his latte.

"Why shouldn't I? I don't care what they think, and they were bothering you, so," he shrugged. "I told them to fuck off."

"I'm starting to think you're a misanthrope."

Mark considered this for a moment as he took a drink of espresso. "I'd have to disagree. I have contempt for a large portion of society, but I don't dislike society entirely. I like you, for example." He grinned and drank some more.

Kyle blushed. "Right, that's why you punish me for, how did you put it again? Mouthing off?"

"That's for your own good, though," he said. "Come on, try some of this; you'll love it." Mark held out a piece of bagel, the plump, pink lox resting in the cream cheese.

"Ugh, fine, if it'll get you to back off," Kyle said, taking it. He popped it in his mouth and made an exaggerated display of chewing. "You're right, it's delicious, okay?"

"There you go being a wise ass again," Mark smiled, picking up the cinnamon bun. "It'll be fun helping you curb that, by the way."

"Yeah, for you," Kyle grumbled, but he couldn't help but feel intrigued by the idea. "So, what, do you just expect me to capitulate without questioning you at all?"

"No, not necessarily. I just expect you to speak to me with respect. That isn't asking too much, is it? That's pretty standard for a submissive."

The blush on Kyle's cheeks ignited until he felt like his face was a lit match. "I'm not submissive," he said, faintly.

"Yes, you are, Kyle. I know you like to think that you're in control all the time, and I'm sure that you are when it comes to school or whatever, but in the bedroom and in your heart, you're a natural born submissive." Mark broke off a piece of cinnamon roll. "You've responded to everything I've done with almost no protest and you liked it, didn't you? The belt, the handcuffs, the rope. You liked it all."

Kyle stared down at the remnants of his latte and turned his words over in his mind, not sure what to say. Clearly this was territory Mark knew very well, but it was all new to him. He had enjoyed being restrained, he had even enjoyed, no, welcomed, the pain, but Mark was asking even more from him than what they'd done in the bedroom. What could he possibly say?

"If this really wasn't for you, Kyle, you would've already said so. Hell, you probably would've told me to go fuck myself and never spoken to me again after the belt incident, but yet, here we are, having brunch on a Saturday morning after I tied you up and fucked you not once, but twice. So, what does that tell you?" Mark sat back in his chair, waiting for Kyle to respond.

Kyle was silent for a time, thinking. Finally, he took a deep breath and asked, "So, what exactly do you want from me?"

Mark's eyes widened, but minutely; enough to show Kyle that he'd heard the note of partial acceptance in Kyle's voice. "Obedience, mainly, and the opportunity to have this type of relationship with you. I enjoy your company, Kyle, and I really do want to get to know you better. But, on the flip side, I want to train you to suit my tastes."

"Why can't we just have a normal relationship?" Kyle asked.

"You had what could probably be considered a normal relationship with Stan, didn't you? Did you enjoy that?"

"Well, yes, but then I couldn't concentrate on him once you came around," Kyle admitted.

"I wonder why," Mark said, grinning. "You were bored, Kyle. Plain and simple."

"Does this mean that we're dating?" Kyle asked, still feeling a little skittish about the whole affair.

"Essentially, but we'll just have different rules than a typical couple."

"Like what?"

"Well, you already obey very nicely in the bedroom; I mean, you slip up on occasion but we'll continue to work on that, naturally. I guess I just want you to listen to me, and when I tell you to do something I want you to do it. I won't tell you to do anything that isn't good for you, of course, but I would like a little less push back."

"So, basically you get to be on a power trip and I'm just along for the ride?" Kyle asked, finishing the last drops of his latte.

Mark brushed his dark hair off of his forehead and his eyes flashed; a greedy light stealing across them. He smiled but it was more like a leer, transforming his face into that of a predator. "I've already told you that I want you, Kyle, and I meant that. I want to own you, all of you, but I can't do that without you agreeing to it, as much as that pains me to say. So, instead of making your little offhand quips why don't you tell me what you want; I'm dying to hear it."

Kyle was disturbed that Mark could turn on a dime like, one moment seeming amused and laid-back and before he knew it, it was like he was being consumed by a manic darkness. He studied his handsome face and his dark eyes, resisting the pull of them; of being ensnared and trapped. Even so, Kyle felt himself being captivated, and in the intimate lighting of the Harbucks he studied the bruises on his wrists, and remembered why they were there.

"How does that saying go?" He finally asked, softly. "If I'm in for a penny I might as well be in for a pound? Is that it?"

"Not exactly, but I know what you mean. So, is that your answer?"

Kyle nodded, looking down at the table.

"Wonderful! Now that that's settled," Mark said, shifting abruptly in that trying way he had, "try some of this cinnamon roll. It's delicious." He held out a piece.

Kyle eyed it warily, not really wanting to eat more, but he took it anyway. Placing it in his mouth, he chewed and swallowed.

"See what I mean?" Mark asked.

"Sure," Kyle said, glancing over at the front counter. Tweek was prepping something but Craig was staring at them, his eyes narrowed. Quickly, Kyle looked away, afraid that he'd heard everything they'd been talking about, but he knew it couldn't be possible.

"Are you done?" Mark asked, taking one last drink of espresso.

"Yes," Kyle replied, looking down at the table again.

"Then let's go. There's something I want to buy for you," Mark said, and he stood. They cleared their table and as they were walking towards the door, Mark took Kyle's hand.

"If I want to hold your hand in public, I will," he said, squeezing Kyle's fingers a little.

This time, Kyle didn't protest.


	13. Chapter 13

"Will you be okay while I go and buy something? It'll only take me a moment," Mark asked. They were walking into the crowded South Park Mall, hand in hand. Crowds of people milled about and the sounds of conversation and commerce buzzed through the cinnabon-scented air.

Kyle frowned. "We aren't going to buy it together? I'm really not much of a shopper."

"Then be a browser, Kyle. Like I said, I won't take long. Go on and look around and we'll meet back by the fountain in half an hour, okay?" Mark gave Kyle's hand a reassuring little squeeze.

"Why can't I just go with you?" Kyle asked, resisting.

"Because it's a surprise. Now, stop arguing with me and go. I'll meet you right there," Mark pointed to a bench next to a fountain spraying water into the air, "in half an hour. Do you understand?" He gave Kyle a pointed look, full of new meaning after their conversation at Harbucks.

"Okay, I guess," Kyle replied, still reluctant. He flinched when Mark leaned down to kiss his cheek softly.

"The same rules that apply to public hand-holding also apply to kissing you when we're out," Mark murmured. "Get used to it. See you in a little bit." He walked away, his black coat hugging his sleek form as he headed for the escalators.

Kyle looked around the mall, not sure where he should go. He wasn't lying when he said he didn't really care for shopping, but he supposed he had to fill his time somehow. He'd just decided to head for the bookstore when he felt a hand on his shoulder, startling him. Turning, he saw that it was Rebecca with Wendy and Bebe in tow.

"Kyle, hey! What are you doing here?" She was glowing in a pink princess-style coat that hugged her waist, tight jeans, and cream-colored boots. A scarf and beanie in the same shade as her boots completed her look, and they complemented her flushed cheeks nicely. Wendy and Bebe waved from behind her; they were sharing a soft pretzel.

"Mark wanted to buy something," Kyle replied. He felt awkward being with other people, his conversation with Mark still fresh in his mind.

"Oh, so you came with Mark," Rebecca said, and Kyle thought she looked a little disappointed for a moment.

"We're helping Rebecca buy some new clothes," Bebe chimed in, giggling. "For her date tonight." She ripped off a piece of pretzel and ate it, laughing more when Rebecca turned to glare at her.

"Just put all my business out there, why don't you?" She asked, flushing.

"Relax, Rebecca, you know how Bebe's always running her mouth," Wendy said, nudging Bebe. She looked at Kyle. "You aren't here with Stan?"

Kyle had a feeling he was going to get thoroughly tired of hearing that question. "No, I'm not. I think he's at work." He had a feeling he'd get tired of giving that explanation, too. "You have a date tonight?" He asked Rebecca, ignoring Wendy's questioning look.

"I guess so," she replied, still flushed but looking sheepish, too.

"Well, that's great! Even though...," he trailed off, not sure how to articulate his next question; he already knew Mark wasn't going to like this news.

"Yeah, even though Mark is going to be pissed off," Rebecca snapped, reading between the lines. "He'll just have to deal with it, won't he?"

"Whoa, what are you guys talking about?" Wendy asked. Bebe, meanwhile, was watching their exchange with hungry curiosity plain on her face.

"Nothing," Rebecca said, her eyes still on Kyle. "We aren't talking about anything. Are we, Kyle?"

Kyle shook his head, not wanting to be like Bebe and put Rebecca's personal life on blast. "No, we're not, I guess."

"Oh, and do me a favor, please, and keep this to yourself, okay?" She asked, her eyes narrowed.

Kyle nodded.

"Great. Come on, you guys. Let's go," Rebecca said, looking at Wendy and Bebe over her shoulder. "Later, Kyle." She started walking away, the other girls following, still shooting curious glances at one another. Wendy waved at Kyle but she still looked very puzzled.

Kyle watched them walk away, and he could already feel the familiar pangs of anxiety tugging at his gut. He really wished he hadn't run into them because now he was going to have to keep something from Mark, and he already knew that was going to be very taxing. He'd do it for Rebecca's sake, though, and for what he thought might be a friendship beginning to form between them.

He wandered into the bookstore now, but his mind was elsewhere; on Rebecca, on Stan, on Mark's bizarre proposal. Kyle picked up a couple of books but he couldn't concentrate on of any them, and before too long he would set them aside; distracted. Finally, he'd had enough and he returned to the bench by the fountain where he sat, watching the people as they went by. Kyle had lapsed into a somewhat peaceful stillness when Mark sat down beside him, a huge smile on his face and a blue shopping bag in his hand; there was no indication on it of which store it was from.

"You didn't buy anything?" Mark asked, glancing around. "Not even an orange smoothie?"

Kyle shook his head. "What'd you buy?" He asked, looking at the bag.

Mark tucked the bag inside of his coat, still grinning. "You don't need to know that yet."

"But I thought it was for me."

"It is, but I don't want to give it to you yet. Did anything interesting happen while I was gone? Did you even go into a store?"

Kyle shifted uncomfortably. "I went to the bookstore."

"Oh, did you see anything you liked?"

"No, not really," Kyle said, looking away.

Mark put his hand on Kyle's thigh and squeezed a little. "Are you okay? You're being really quiet."

Kyle sighed. "Okay, fine. I saw Rebecca, too. She was here with Wendy and Bebe."

Mark kept his hand on Kyle's leg but he stopped squeezing it. "Becky was here? I knew she was probably out with Wendy or something. I just hope she doesn't buy out the mall."

"Bebe said they were going to buy some clothes," Kyle said, still feeling uncomfortable.

Mark snorted. "Becky doesn't need anymore clothes, I can tell you that much. Well, whatever. I just hope she was having fun; she's been so grouchy lately."

"Right, yeah," Kyle said. He knew he was lying by omission but he didn't want to break his promise to Rebecca; he tried to smile to reassure Mark that everything was fine.

"So, what do you want to do now?" Mark asked. "I'm open to anything." He thought for a moment. "How about the movies? We could visit Stan."

"No way," Kyle said, flatly.

Mark laughed. "Oh, right. No, we wouldn't want to put you in an uncomfortable situation, would we? I mean, this isn't my bedroom, is it?"

Kyle flushed. "Do you have to say things like that?"

"Yes, I do." Mark's hand tightened on his thigh, making Kyle wince. "Well, I guess we could just go back to my place and get in the pool or something. You're staying the night again, right?"

"I don't know. My parents might want me to come home because I stayed over yesterday."

"I'd really like you to spend the night again, Kyle. Just tell your mom you're going to be with me; she'll cave in a second." He laughed.

"I guess so."

"Come on, we'll go over to your house now so you can get a change of clothes. It'll be nice visiting with Sheila, too." Mark stood, helping Kyle up.

"Is it too much to ask that you not refer to my mom by her first name?" Kyle asked, following as Mark took his hand and they exited the mall.

"Yes, it is. I bet I could call her that to her face and she'd be fine with it," Mark replied.

Within the hour, Kyle had to agree that Mark was right. He stood by silently as Mark called Mrs. Broflovski her first name and she not only liked it, she encouraged it. She'd been thrilled when she saw Mark walking into the kitchen behind Kyle, and she'd jumped up to make him some coffee.

"Oh, that's okay, Sheila," he said, smiling handsomely, but then he covered his mouth in manufactured horror. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Broflovski, I felt so comfortable with you that I called you by your first name. Please forgive me, that was unspeakably rude."

She waved his words away. "Oh, that's fine, Mark. You can call me Sheila, I don't mind at all. You are such a polite young man, I know you aren't trying to be forward. Besides, you've been so good to my Kyle, you're becoming like part of the family."

Kyle had had to fight the urge to roll his eyes when she dropped that line. He spoke up instead. "I was wondering if it would be okay if I spent the night at Mark's again, mom."

"Well, of course, it's okay! By all means, go! Here, I'll pack some treats for you two to take along." She busied herself by getting out a container and stuffing it full of goodies. "Mark, will your mother be there tonight? Kyle was just singing her praises the last time you all got together." She thought for a second, her eyes brightening. "In fact, you should bring her over here sometime. We could all get to know one another."

"I'm sure she would love that, Sheila. I'll have to run the idea by her and let you know," Mark said, sitting down at the table.

Mrs. Broflovski turned to Kyle, her eyebrow raised. "Aren't you going to go get packed up so you can stay over at Mark's? You shouldn't leave your friends waiting like this, Kyle." She looked at Mark. "It's a good thing you two are spending so much time together. Maybe some of your good manners will rub off on him."

Less than 15 minutes later, Kyle and Mark were back in the car, heading towards Mark's house. Kyle was silent for the whole ride, still in shock at how well Mark could manipulate his mother.

"I told you, I'm good with parents," Mark said, shrugging. "Sheila had a good idea, though. I bet my mom would love to come over for dinner."

"Yeah, and then we can get married and live happily ever after, right?" Kyle said, irritably. He was looking out the window as they pulled into Mark's curving drive, and tiny snowflakes had started to float down from the white sky.

"I'm starting to think that the only way we can cure your smart mouth is if I were to cut out your tongue," Mark said, putting the car in park and shutting it off.

"That is an extremely bizarre thing to say," Kyle said, opening his door. Climbing out of the car, he let the snowflakes brush against his face; refreshing him.

"Your attitude just makes me want to give you your surprise that much sooner," Mark said. He placed his hand on the small of Kyle's back and nudged him towards the house.

"That isn't ominous at all," Kyle said.

They spent the rest of the afternoon lounging in the hot tub or the pool, with Mark drinking booze and Kyle resisting his offers of alcohol. Dr. Cotswolds had come home as evening started to fall, surprising them.

"Oh, hello Kyle," she said, after greeting Mark. They were in the kitchen because Mark had finally talked Kyle into drinking a wine cooler, and they had gone to get one.

"Hello, Dr. Cotswolds," Kyle replied, blushing despite himself. If only she knew the things he'd been doing in her home with her son.

"I won't be in tonight, darling," she said, looking at Mark. "I've been asked to dinner, so I'll be heading over to L'Auberge in just a little while."

"You aren't going on a date by any chance, are you?" Mark asked, smirking.

"I might be," she replied, smiling. "The jury's still out on that one." She slipped off her high heels and sighed.

"Well, have fun," Mark said. "And good luck, of course."

"You can wish me luck too, then," Rebecca said, entering the kitchen. She was dressed in a scarlet dress and matching stilettos, her hair piled high on her head. Diamonds on her ears caught the lights overhead, making them sparkle.

"Oh, are you going out tonight, Rebecca?" Dr. Cotswolds asked, while Mark could only gape at his sister wordlessly. "You'll freeze to death in that."

"Relax, mom, I'll wear my heavy coat," Rebecca replied, sliding some lip gloss on. "Do I look okay?" She stood up straight, one hand on her hip. Her dress was cut scandalously low in the front revealing a lot of cleavage, and when she turned around Kyle saw that it dipped low in the back too, showing off her smooth skin.

"You look lovely, but I'm not sure if that dress is appropriate for a girl your age," her mother said, inspecting her. "Don't you have something a little more modest?"

"I probably do, but I'm not wearing it tonight," Rebecca replied, flippantly.

"Mom, you can't seriously be okay with Becky going out looking like that," Mark said, having finally found his voice. "She looks like a, like a..." he stopped, trying to find the right word.

"Like what, Mark? A whore? Get over yourself," Rebecca replied, turning her nose up at him. "Besides, I think Kevin will think I look just fine."

"Kevin? Wait, Kevin Stoley? You're going out with him?" Mark asked, his face coloring with anger.

"Sure, he's taking me to dinner," she replied. She looked at Kyle and smiled. "Thanks for keeping it to yourself, Kyle. You're a sweetheart."

Kyle cringed when Mark turned to him, his eyes filled with rage. Shrinking away, he went to sit on a stool at the counter; secretly wishing he could just disappear.

"Mom, say something. Becky can't go out with that asshole," Mark said, appealing to Dr. Cotswolds. "Certainly not dressed like that, anyway. She's just asking for something to happen."

"Mark!" Dr. Cotswolds said, her voice sharp. "I did not raise you to have that kind of mentality. No woman is 'asking for anything,' no matter how she's dressed. I'm ashamed that you would even think that. And we've talked about your language, haven't we? Watch your mouth." She turned to Rebecca. "You look gorgeous, sweetheart, and I just know you'll have fun tonight. Did you need a ride? I'm heading out soon too."

Rebecca smirked at Mark, clearly very satisfied with herself. "That's okay, mom. Kevin's actually going to be picking me up in just a little bit, but thanks."

"Well, okay," Dr. Cotswolds replied, looking at her watch. "Oh, sugar, I need to get moving. I need to leave in less than half an hour. Excuse me, kids. It was nice seeing you again, Kyle." She left the kitchen in a hurry.

"You aren't going out with that idiot, Becky," Mark seethed as soon as their mother was out of earshot.

"Actually, I think I am, Mark, and you don't really have a say," Rebecca replied, staring at her brother. Her expression was an open challenge, just begging her brother to try something.

"Why do you have to dress like a slut, huh?" Mark asked, his tone vicious. "I've got news for you, Becky; Kevin is already taking you out, you don't have to show off what you have now."

Rebecca drew back like she'd been struck, but she remained calm. "I don't have to justify myself to you; not about what I wear, not about anything. If you can't handle seeing me in a short dress then don't look, it's as simple as that. Your days of bossing me around are over." She started to walk out of the kitchen but Mark grabbed her arm, holding her back.

"Can't you see I'm just worried about you?" Mark asked, his voice dangerously low.

"Worried, is that what you want to call it?" She asked, her eyes on Mark's hand. "I know what your kind of concern is like, and I don't want it." Rebecca glanced over at Kyle, who was still sitting at the counter trying not to draw any attention to himself. "Enjoy your evening, brother, and don't worry about me. I'll be just fine." Yanking her arm out of Mark's grip, she stalked out of the kitchen, her shoes clicking across the floor. After the sounds of her departure faded away, the kitchen was plunged into a silence so full of tension it was unbearable.

"So," Mark finally said, his voice still low, "you knew about this?"

Kyle stared at the counter, faint droplets of sweat collecting on his forehead. He couldn't think of the words to explain himself, so he stayed silent; waiting. He heard Mark's footsteps as he passed through the kitchen, closing in on him, and he tried not to visibly withdraw. Kyle jumped when he felt Mark's hand come to rest on the back of his neck, but his touch was gentle.

"Tell me the truth, Kyle," he said, his voice as gentle as his touch. "Did Becky tell you she was going out on a date?"

Kyle nodded, thrown off-kilter by Mark's benevolent tone.

"Let me guess, she told you when you saw her at the mall earlier. Right?" Mark's hand was still on the back of his neck, but it almost felt like it was becoming heavier.

"Right," Kyle said, quietly.

"Is there any specific reason you didn't think to tell me about this?" The edge Kyle was waiting for had showed up in Mark's voice, making his heart start to thud.

"She asked me not to," Kyle said, glancing at him. Mark's face was inscrutable.

"Well, she screwed you over, didn't she, Kyle?" Mark asked, and he tightened his grip on Kyle's neck, making him squeak. "You covered for her and she called you out, now, what does that say about misplaced loyalty, huh?"

Kyle stayed quiet, not sure how to answer.

Mark sighed a little, and his grip on Kyle's neck slackened. "She knew what she was doing, Kyle. My sister might seem innocent but she's also very clever. She wanted to distract me by making you a patsy, and it almost worked. In fact, I think it did." He stood up and started pacing. "I can't believe I didn't see the signs. Christ, how long do you think she's been planning this?"

"I don't know," Kyle said, watching him walk back and forth.

"You'd think my sister would be happy having a brother that gives a shit about her well-being but, no, Becky just has to be a goddamn rebel." He looked at Kyle, his face still red. "What do you know about this Kevin guy? Is he okay?"

Kyle shrugged. "Kevin's fine, I guess. Honestly, he's a little boring. I think he really likes science fiction; Star Trek, mainly." He put his hands up. "But don't quote me on that."

"Well, he sounds harmless enough, I guess. I'll have a little talk with him before they leave tonight, of course," Mark said, popping his knuckles. The sound made Kyle cringe for numerous reasons. Suddenly, the doorbell rang, echoing through the house and making Kyle clutch the edge of the counter in surprise.

"I guess that's prince charming," Mark said, smirking. "Let's go greet him, shall we?"

Reluctantly, Kyle followed Mark to the front door, preparing for the shit storm that was no doubt about to break out in the foyer. Just before Mark could open the door, Rebecca's voice called out, stopping him. Kyle looked up to see Rebecca descending the staircase, already wearing her coat.

"Don't trouble yourself, Mark. I'll get that," she said, walking across the oriental rug.

"It's really not a problem," Mark replied, his hand still on the door handle. "I'm right here, after all."

"I said no," she said, her tone dripping acid. "Don't cross me, Mark, unless you want to deal with the fallout."

Kyle was amazed to see Mark stand down, and he let go of the door handle. He was looking at his sister like he wanted to knock her out; his teeth gritted and jaw set.

"That's better," she said. She glanced at Kyle. "Do I look okay? I don't want to open the door if I look like a mess."

Miraculously, Kyle was able to produce a coherent enough reply to placate her. "Yes, uh, you look, fine, I guess." He cleared his throat, looking away when Mark stared daggers at him.

"Thanks, doll. You're the best." She opened the door as she patted her hair, and there stood Kevin, holding a bouquet of roses and an awkward smile on his face.

"Oh, Kevin, are those for me? You didn't need to do that!" She took them into her arms and pressed her face into the velvety, red petals, breathing deeply. "They're just wonderful, thank you!" Before Mark could react, she had pushed the flowers into his arms. "Here, put those in water for me, okay?"

Mark stared at her with his mouth wide open, the bouquet of roses hanging listlessly in his hands. "You've got to be kidding me," he finally said. "Becky, I-"

"Kevin, you know my brother, don't you?" Rebecca said, cutting him off. "Oh, and Kyle too, of course." She waved distractedly in Kyle's general direction.

"Oh, sure, yeah. Hi, you guys," Kevin said, waving at them.

Kyle returned the wave but kept it short, while Mark seethed, his hands starting to twist the roses so that the petals were falling to the floor like red rain.

"Well, we really ought to be going, don't you think?" Rebecca said, stepping outside. She pushed Kevin backward gently, and he allowed this, only looking faintly confused.

"Becky, wait, I don't think-"

"Don't wait up for me, guys. Good night!" She said, and she shut the door right in Mark's face.

They stood there for a moment, listening as Rebecca's high heels moved across the driveway outside, and then a car roared to life. After a few seconds, it pulled away and silence moved through the house, making Rebecca's absence that much more palpable. Kyle looked at Mark, who was still glaring at the door, the roses now in complete shreds with petals all over the carpet. Wordlessly, he turned on his heel, heading back towards the kitchen, the flowers dangling from his hand.

Kyle followed quietly, and when he arrived in the kitchen he heard a mechanical whirring, but he couldn't place the sound. At that moment, Dr. Cotswolds strolled into the room, now wearing a shimmery black dress. She seemed confused at the noise, too.

"Are you using the trash compacter?" She asked, walking over to stand next to Mark.

"Yeah, I brought some crap down from my room so I'm just taking care of it," he replied.

"Oh, well, thank you for tidying up, honey." She ran a hand through her hair, trying to fluff it up. "Did your sister already leave?"

"Yep, she left with Kevin just a few minutes ago," Mark replied, his face twisted with annoyance.

His mother failed to notice his expression, being too preoccupied with putting her earrings on. "I hope she has a good time. It's been awhile since she's been out on a date," she commented.

Mark just grunted and after a moment, the compacter went silent. Kyle leaned against the wall, filled to the brim with apprehension. Dr. Cotswolds sighed and looked down at herself.

"Well, I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be," she said. "What do you think, do I clean up okay?"

Mark finally snapped out of his mood enough to smile weakly. "You look great, mom. I mean it."

"Thank you, love," she said, leaning over to give him a hug. "You are so good to your old mom."

Mark hugged her back, but he caught Kyle's eyes over his mother's shoulder, and they were full of simmering rage.

Dr. Cotswolds pulled away from her son and went to grab her car keys and purse from the counter. "You two have fun tonight. Don't get into any trouble, okay?" She smiled, her lips a soft, pearly pink.

"Of course not, mom," Mark said, rolling his eyes. "You know me, do I ever get into trouble?"

"None that I know of," she replied, laughing. "Okay, I'm off. I'll probably be out late, sweetie, so I'll see both of you in the morning." Kissing her hand, she waved and left the room. Somewhere in the house, a door slammed, and then they were completely alone. Kyle waited, knowing Mark still needed to decompress, so he wasn't sure what to expect.

"I'm going to smoke," Mark said, reaching under the counter to get a bottle of wine. "You don't have to smoke too, but I'd like you to drink a glass of wine with me."

"Sure, that sounds fine," Kyle replied, coming over to accept the glass that Mark poured for him. He drank it slowly, watching as Mark downed his glass in less than 30 seconds. Mark poured more wine for himself.

"Lets go upstairs, huh?" He asked, picking up the bottle and his glass.

Kyle nodded.

*****

"I seriously can't believe Becky," Mark said again, for what felt like the millionth time. He was standing out on the balcony with the door open, the frigid air blowing through the room and chilling Kyle to the bone. He'd wrapped himself up in the comforter to stave off the cold, but it still leaked in, making him shiver.

Mark stood in the doorway, smoking a joint and staring out at the sky as the sun began to set, turning the clouds purple. He was still furious but his anger had dissipated a little bit, no doubt as a result of the weed. Kyle didn't respond, choosing instead to stay safe inside the cloak of silence.

He walked into the room, bringing the smell of winter and marijuana with him, and he glanced at Kyle. Seeing him all wrapped up against the cold, his face became sympathetic and he closed the door.

"Ugh, that smoke is seriously fucking with my eyes," he said, rubbing them. "I'll be right back." He disappeared into the bathroom.

He walked out after a few minutes and Kyle was shocked to see him wearing dark-rimmed glasses. He stared until Mark frowned at him.

"What, haven't you ever seen someone wearing glasses before?" He asked, annoyed.

"Of course I have, I just didn't know you wore them," Kyle replied, pushing the blanket down so his head and shoulders showed. He had to admit that Mark looked pretty sexy with glasses, too, and he decided they made him look like a really irritable professor.

"I guess it goes without saying, but I normally wear contacts," Mark said, going over to sit on the bed next to him.

Kyle gazed at him, and the more he saw him with glasses the more he liked them. "They really suit you, actually," he said, shyly.

"Well, thanks, I appreciate that," Mark smiled. "On that note, I think I'm ready to give you your surprise."

"How does that relate to me liking your glasses?" Kyle asked.

"Well, I think your present will suit you just like my glasses suit me," Mark said. "Would you like to see what it is?"

Kyle hesitated for a moment, mainly because he was never sure what Mark had in store for him. After a moment, he nodded.

"Great, but first, I need you to take off your clothes." Mark stood, waiting for Kyle to comply. He frowned when Kyle didn't move.

"But it's cold," Kyle said, his voice small. "You had the door open forever and now it's freezing in here."

"God, you are so difficult," Mark said, rolling his eyes. Reaching over, he turned on a space heater next to the bed. "There, are you happy now?"

"Doesn't it take awhile for those things to really heat up?" Kyle asked, drawing the blanket back over his head.

Mark's good humor was clearly dwindling, and he gave Kyle a look to illustrate that point. "Kyle, I want you to get up and take off your clothes. Now."

Slowly, Kyle removed the blankets and crawled off the bed; standing up, he balked until Mark cleared his throat.

"Well?" Mark asked. "Anytime, Kyle."

"What, are you going to watch me?"

Mark sighed and sat back down on the bed. "Yes, Kyle, I am. What is your deal? You act like I've never seen you naked or something; hell, you act like we've never even fucked before. Now take off your clothes because you're really starting to try my patience." He rolled his eyes. "Christ, I'm glad I bought your present when I did, because you seriously need it."

Kyle gulped and started to take off his hoody, unzipping it and shrugging it off. Throwing it on a chair, he looked over at Mark who was watching him, just like he promised he would.

"Keep going, Kyle."

Kyle bit his lip and grabbed the hem of his shirt, he pulled it off and threw it on top of his hoody. Covering himself with his arms, he glanced at Mark again.

"What is the problem here?" Mark asked, lifting up his glasses so he could squeeze the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"I don't know, this is just weird," Kyle said. "Yes, I know we've had sex, you've seen me naked, whatever; but it's really awkward getting undressed while someone watches you. Especially since we're not getting ready to take a shower or anything, and you're sitting there with all your clothes on."

"I guess that makes sense," Mark conceded. "But, Kyle, strippers do this shit for a living. Every day they get on a stage and get naked for fully clothed, total strangers so, really, what's the big deal here?"

"I'm not a stripper, Mark," Kyle said, turning his nose up at the very notion.

"You are really getting on my last nerve, Kyle," Mark said, his voice becoming dangerous. "And where do you get off being so haughty, anyway? I've been inside you, I've sucked you off, you've swallowed my come; we're getting ready to fuck again, so just get over yourself and take off your goddamn clothes before I rip them off of you!"

"Okay, okay! Geez, calm down," Kyle said, quickly unbuttoning his jeans. He closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see Mark's face as he pushed them down, and once he had kicked them off, he put his hands on the waistband of his boxers. He paused until Mark cleared his throat again, and finally, he pushed them down over his hips and they were gone too.

"Jesus, finally," he heard Mark say, and Kyle opened his eyes. Mark was rooting around under the bed and Kyle could hear a bag rustling. He stood and his hand was behind his back. "Go into the bathroom," he smiled.

Kyle did as he asked, trying to avoid the reflection of his nakedness as he stepped into the bathroom. In the mirror, he could see Mark coming up behind him with his hand still behind his back.

"I want you to look at yourself as I put this on you," Mark said, softly. "You're so shy and I want you to be comfortable with being naked; especially around me. Besides, I think you're really going to like how this looks."

Mark became quiet as he placed something around Kyle's neck, and his eyes widened when he saw what it was.

"You bought me a collar?" He asked, incredulously.

"Yes, do you like it?" Mark asked, tightening it.

"I don't know, Mark, this is really weird, even for you," Kyle replied, faintly. He studied the smooth black collar in the mirror, and saw that it had silver rings on the sides. It was of a medium thickness; not too wide and not too thin.

"Well, I think it looks great, especially with you like this; naked and vulnerable," Mark said, sliding two fingers under the stiff leather. "How does it feel? You don't have any trouble breathing, right?"

"No, I'm okay," Kyle replied, still trying to get used to having its weight around his throat.

"That isn't all," Mark said, reaching into his back pocket. He held up something else in the mirror for Kyle to see.

"A leash," Kyle said.

"A leash," Mark repeated, smiling while he hooked it onto one of the silver rings on the side of the collar. He gave it a gentle tug. "So, what do you think?"

"Like I said, I don't know. This is going to take me a little time to get used to," Kyle replied, staring at himself. The black leather stood out starkly against his pale skin and that coupled with the cut on his mouth and the bruises on his arms and hips, he barely recognized himself. Mark watched him, his dark eyes full of some strange emotion Kyle couldn't even name.

"Are you ready?" Mark asked, softly. He reached out to brush Kyle's back with his fingertips, making him shiver.

"I guess so," Kyle said, still watching his reflection.

"Then come on," Mark said, pulling on the leash lightly. They walked into the bedroom and his attitude changed. "Get on the floor."

"On the floor?" Kyle asked, glancing at him. He felt like he was getting used to obeying more quickly but he was still adapting to the feeling of being led with a collar around his throat.

"Yes, now," Mark said, pulling on the leash a little.

Kyle dropped to the floor and looked up at Mark, waiting.

"Good, now get on your hands and knees," Mark commanded.

Kyle complied, feeling his face beginning to burn with embarrassment.

"Now crawl for me; yes, that's perfect." Mark led Kyle toward the bed on his hands and knees, where he sat on the edge. Reaching down, he caressed Kyle's face with one hand while winding the leash around the other. "Undo my jeans," he said.

Kyle hesitated a little and Mark pulled on the leash, giving him some encouragement. Sitting back on his knees, Kyle reached up to unbutton Mark's jeans, and after feeling another tug on his collar, proceeded to unzip them too. Under his fingers, he could feel Mark's erection growing and becoming harder. He blushed.

"Keep going," Mark murmured.

Kyle became still, not sure how to proceed. Worried that Mark would tug on the leash again, he placed a hand on top of Mark's cock, and he could hear him suck in his breath, growing harder under his touch. Becoming a little more bold, he reached through the slit in Mark's boxers and pulled out his erection. He stared at it and then looked up Mark, who smiled at him.

"I think you know what to do next," he said, his voice husky.

Opening his mouth, Kyle leaned forward to place Mark's cock in between his lips, stopping himself at the last minute. He'd given Mark head before but that was different, Mark had pretty much controlled all of his movements; he wasn't sure what to do on his own. Mark responded to his hesitation by pulling on the leash, but a little harder than before.

"Suck on it," Mark growled.

This time, Kyle opened his mouth and placed Mark's cock inside slowly, taking him in inch by inch. Mark groaned and placed the hand not holding the leash on the back of Kyle's head, gently urging him forward. Kyle slipped his lips over Mark until almost his entire length was inside of his mouth, and he lightly brushed his tongue along the underside of it. Mark's hand gripped Kyle's hair and he pushed his head forward a little more until his cock was just touching the back of Kyle's throat; he gagged, rearing back.

Mark laughed darkly and pulled on the leash, dragging Kyle back toward him. "It's okay, baby," he said. "You'll get better at this, I promise." He plunged himself back into Kyle's mouth and he moaned. "It just, uh, takes a little practice."

Mark fucked Kyle's mouth a little more, with strokes that alternated between gentle and rough, keeping the pace pretty regular the whole time. At one point, he sped up a little bit but he stopped, pulling Kyle's mouth off of him completely.

"Mm, I almost came there," he said, watching Kyle as he gasped, trying to catch his breath. "Let's slow things down a little, shall we?" He stood and walked across the room, with Kyle following on the leash. He opened a drawer and pulled something out. "This should be fun," he said, smiling down at Kyle who watched him, wide eyed. He led Kyle back to the bed, and he sat down again. Holding up a black object shaped like a spade, he asked Kyle if he knew what it was.

"No," Kyle said, staring at it.

"This is a butt plug," Mark said. "I don't think I need to tell you where it goes."

Kyle shook his head, indicating an explanation wasn't necessary.

"You know, I seem to recall you lying to me about where my sister was going tonight," Mark said, looking thoughtful.

"I didn't lie," Kyle said, blushing. "I mean, not exactly."

"Lying by omission is still lying, Kyle," Mark said, narrowing his eyes. "Don't insult my intelligence, please."

Kyle looked away, the blush spreading from his face down his neck.

"Don't you think you deserve to be punished?" Mark asked, softly.

Kyle stayed silent, not sure what to say. Mark pulled on the leash, forcing him to look up.

"Don't you think?" He repeated.

Kyle nodded, casting his eyes downward.

"Get up here," Mark instructed. He pulled Kyle up on his lap so that he was belly down across his legs. After a moment, he was entering Kyle with his fingers, making him gasp and arch his back. Shushing him, he continued to stretch Kyle out, his fingers slick and skillful, and Kyle felt himself opening up. He moaned when he felt Mark push a second finger into him, and he pressed back against his hand.

"Oh, we're eager now, aren't we?" Mark murmured, laughing a little. "Here, open your mouth."

Kyle did, and Mark placed the butt plug between his lips, startling him. It tasted of rubber and he almost gagged.

"You're going to want that good and wet, so I'd suggest you keeping it in your mouth for as long as possible," Mark said, still sliding his fingers in and out of Kyle, opening him up further. Finally, he reached over and took the plug out of Kyle's mouth.

"That should work," he said, and he drew his fingers out of Kyle. In a moment, Kyle felt something else sliding inside of him; something wider than Mark's two fingers had been, and he moaned even louder. Inch by agonizing inch, Mark pushed the butt plug inside of him, stretching him wider and wider. Kyle dropped his head, drool escaping from the corner of his mouth; his eyes closed.

"Don't get too relaxed," Mark said, stroking Kyle's back. "This isn't your punishment."

"What?" Kyle asked, opening his eyes slightly. He barely had the time to react before Mark had brought his open palm down on his ass, causing him to arch back up. Before he knew it, Mark had spanked him again, making his skin sting terribly. Kyle tried to cover himself with his hands, but Mark pushed them away; allowing him the opportunity to spank Kyle again. Once more, Kyle tried to cover himself.

"Good thing I grabbed these," Mark said, pulling something out of his pocket. "I knew I was going to need them."

Deftly, he lifted Kyle up, drew his arms in front of him, and snapped a pair of handcuffs in place. Placing him back across his lap, Kyle was now unable to cover himself, and he whimpered as Mark continued to spank him, each blow biting at his skin a little harder. The combination of the spanking, the butt plug stretching him out, and the handcuffs locking his hands together made Kyle lower his head in surrender, and he gritted his teeth so he wouldn't continue to cry out in response to the blows being rained on his backside. He could feel himself becoming harder with every smack on his ass.

All at once, Mark stopped his assault on Kyle's ass, and he was rubbing him tenderly; slowly.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" He asked, softly stroking the burning skin.

Kyle could only nod his head.

"Here, we won't need this right now," Mark said, removing Kyle's leash but leaving his collar on, stroking it a little. "God, I love the way this looks on you. Here, stand up for me."

Kyle obeyed, standing before Mark as he unlocked the handcuffs. "Turn around," he said. "And put your arms behind you." Kyle did, and he felt the cuffs being snapped around his wrists again.

"Very nice," Mark said, and Kyle glanced over his shoulder at him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes trailing over Kyle's body and he was rubbing his erection slowly, his fist wrapped around it. He scooted back onto the bed so he was resting against the pillows, still pumping his cock with his hand. "Come here," he said, softly.

Kyle walked over, his ass stinging and his arms pinned behind him, with the collar circling his throat, and as he met Mark's eyes he knew, in that moment, that he was completely under this person's spell. No matter how strange or farfetched Mark's proclivities were, he belonged to him, and he liked it. He crawled onto the bed, still aching where the butt plug was stretching him.

Mark brought a hand up and rubbed Kyle's thigh softly, and then he was running it over his ass and pulling him towards him. Kyle drew forward and Mark directed him to straddle his hips, where he'd pushed his jeans and boxers down a little; his cock still standing stiff and ready at attention in his hand. Mark's fingers lingered on the plug inside of Kyle, making him moan, and then he pulled it out slowly, seeming to enjoy the way Kyle's face changed as it was being removed.

Tossing it aside, he guided Kyle down on his cock, where he slowly pushed it up inside of him, and Kyle's head lolled on his shoulder as he felt Mark entering him little by little. Finally, Mark's entire cock was inside Kyle, and he flicked his hips up slightly, moving his cock ever so gently. Kyle moaned and arched his back, almost falling forward, but Mark caught him and held him up.

"You like that, baby?" He asked, squeezing Kyle's hips and moving him up and down, creating an unbelievable friction inside of Kyle that almost sent him over the edge. "God, you're so fucking tight."

Picking up the pace now, he lifted Kyle up off of his cock and then pulled him down, sliding in and out of him and creating so much heat between them that Kyle was panting and begging for more; so much more. With his hands locked behind him, Kyle relied on Mark to grip his hips just right and keep him from falling over, and he did; digging his fingers into Kyle's sex-warmed flesh and guiding him until Kyle was almost sobbing for release.

"Please," he finally gasped, clenching himself around Mark, and this was enough to make Mark come; hearing Kyle, shy Kyle, begging to be fucked. He groaned deep in his throat as he came, and he held onto Kyle harder now, trying to keep himself grounded in reality. After he was done, he looked up at Kyle who was panting, and he saw the faint line of drool coursing from the corner of his mouth.

Lifting Kyle off of him, Mark pulled Kyle forward and opening his mouth, licked Kyle's erection lightly, making Kyle thrust his hips forward just a little. Drawing him between his lips, Mark pumped Kyle in and out of his mouth in careful strokes, making sure not to go too fast; not yet. Mark enjoyed teasing him, it would seem, so he deliberately kept the pace slow, moving Kyle in and out of his mouth with an agonizing slowness. At one point, he drew Kyle all the way into the back of his throat, and through the fog of arousal Kyle was amazed at his control over his gag reflex.

Finally, Kyle whimpered slightly and that seemed to give Mark the motivation to start going faster, and now he was ruthless in the way he sucked on Kyle, pumping him in and out at a dizzying pace, his hands gripping Kyle's hip bones. With one final, deep thrust, Kyle was coming inside of Mark's mouth, and he was moaning louder than he'd ever moaned. His come came out in fierce little spurts that Mark swallowed easily, and he was suddenly finding it very hard to hold himself up, even with Mark's strong hands holding him.

Mark reached into his pocket and removed something, and he reached up to unlock the handcuffs, tossing them aside. Kyle curled up beside him, resting his head on Mark's chest and sighing a little.

"Anything wrong?" Mark asked, softly. He was stroking Kyle's hair, winding the strands around his fingers.

"No, not really. Although," Kyle stopped, suddenly shy, even after all they'd done.

"What is it? Tell me."

"Well, we didn't kiss this time," Kyle said, turning his head to look at him.

"We didn't, did we?" Mark replied, his voice thoughtful. "Does that bother you?"

"I guess not," Kyle said, curling his hand in Mark's shirt.

"Yes, it does. Why else would you bring it up?"

"It was just an observation," Kyle murmured.

Mark gently tilted Kyle's face toward him and looked into his eyes for a moment, smiling. "It bothered you. Just admit it."

"Fine, it bothered me. Are you satisfied?" Kyle asked, annoyed.

"Not yet," Mark said, and he brushed his lips across Kyle's. Licking his lips, Mark's tongue delved inside Kyle's mouth, until they were kissing so deeply it took Kyle's breath away.

"Did that help?" Mark asked, when they broke apart.

"A little," Kyle said, smiling.

"Well, here, let's do it again then," Mark said, pulling him close.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I had a really hard time writing this chapter. Not bc the words didn't flow, but bc I really hate seeing things end. Especially things that probably shouldn't.
> 
> I don't know. I guess I'm just being pensive, lol.

"I'm going to run a bath for you," Mark murmured.

"What, why?" Kyle asked, snuggling up to him. They were swathed in blankets, wrapped in each other's arms, while gentle morning sunlight filtered through the curtains.

"Aren't you sore?" Mark ran his hand through Kyle's hair, winding the red strands around his fingers. The sun fell across Kyle's head, igniting the highlights in his hair like little twinges of fire.

"A little, but I don't want to get up," Kyle said, wrapping his arm tighter across Mark's stomach.

"Come on, it's for your own good." Mark's fingers passed through Kyle's curls and down the back of his neck, coming to rest on the collar still circling Kyle's throat; they lingered there for a moment. "Have I told you how much I enjoy seeing you wear this?"

"Once or twice," Kyle replied, coquettishly.

"I wish you could wear it all the time."

"That's not exactly realistic."

"I know, but that doesn't change the fact that it'd make me happy." Mark sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stretched his arms above his head and Kyle watched the muscles flex in his long back, wanting to slide his tongue along that soft, smooth skin.

Mark grabbed his glasses from the nightstand and put them on, turning to Kyle. "I'm going to start running the water, okay?"

Kyle nodded and rolled onto his back. "Okay, I'll be there in a second. I just want to check my phone."

Mark walked into the bathroom and after a moment Kyle heard the water running. Turning his attention to his phone, he turned on the screen and was surprised to see a text from Stan:

_We need to talk._

Apprehension rose inside him when he saw Stan's message, and he tried to think of how to respond. He sat there quietly for a few minutes, staring into space. Mark called to him from the doorway of the bathroom, making him jump.

"What's wrong?" Mark asked, walking over.

"Nothing," Kyle said, vaguely, turning off his phone. Mark watched him set it aside, his eyes darkening.

"The water's ready," he said, still looking at Kyle's phone.

Wanting to distract him, Kyle threw the blanket aside and stood, wearing his collar and nothing else. After they'd washed up the night before, Mark had pulled Kyle into bed naked, not giving him a chance to put any clothes on. The bright morning sun shone on his skin, white and delicate, save for the bruises adorning his hips, thighs, and arms. Mark sat on the bed and reached out his hands, capturing Kyle's hips and pulling him close; pressing a feathery kiss against Kyle's stomach.

Smiling, Kyle placed his hands on the back of Mark's head and hugged him against himself, enjoying the scent of his clean hair.

"Mm, I'm thinking I might want to fuck you before you take a bath," Mark said.

"I thought you were concerned about how sore I am?" Kyle said, his voice low.

"I am," Mark said, looking up at him. "What do you think?"

"I think you should do what you want," Kyle replied.

"Are you sure?" Mark asked, even though his hand was already settling on Kyle's ass, his fingers inching their way inside of him. Kyle moaned as they delved inside, stretching him open. Drawing them out, Mark licked his hand and then continued to slide inside of Kyle, who threw his head back at the sensation of being invaded.

Kyle wrapped his arms around Mark's neck as he guided him down, sliding him onto his erection nice and slow. Mark kept it simple this time, and entered Kyle in quick, little thrusts, smiling when Kyle arched his back just so, already overcome with pleasure.

"What was on your phone, Kyle?" Mark asked as he slid in and out of him, grunting now and then when Kyle clenched around his cock.

Kyle opened his eyes and looked at Mark, surprised by his question. He tried to formulate a coherent reply as Mark continued to thrust into him, gripping his hips gently so he wouldn't make the deep violet bruises worse. Frowning, he tried to pull away just a little.

"What?" He asked, gasping as Mark went a little deeper.

"You heard me," Mark replied, calm even in the middle of having sex.

"It was nothing," Kyle said, looking away. He gritted his teeth and moaned when Mark picked up the pace.

"It wasn't nothing, Kyle. Now tell me the truth," Mark said, and he stopped rocking in and out of Kyle; becoming hatefully still.

Kyle stared at him, his body crying out for more, and an awful understanding washed over him. "You just wanted to have sex so you could interrogate me, didn't you?" He asked, his voice faint.

"Maybe," Mark replied, smiling. Slowly, he started pumping into Kyle again, but deliberately not at the pace Kyle would have preferred.

"I can't believe you," Kyle said, moaning against his will as Mark went a little faster. "Responding like this just because I got a text."

"Oh, so it was a text?" Mark asked, and he rewarded Kyle's admission by thrusting into him a little deeper. "Who was it from?"

Kyle leaned his head on Mark's shoulder, hypnotized by what was being done to his body. Through breathy pants he tried to reply, but it was difficult. "You could have just asked me, you know. You didn't have to do this."

"I know, but this way is more fun." Mark unhooked Kyle's arms from around his neck and turned him so he was facing away. In this position he was able to watch Kyle's ass as he pumped into him. "Now, answer me. Who texted you?"

Kyle cried out, almost at his limit, and he gasped, "Stan, okay? It was Stan!"

Mark reached forward and wrapped his hand around Kyle's cock, his grip firm as it slid up and down his length. "There, was that so difficult?" He asked, thrusting into Kyle at the same time he rubbed his cock, and Kyle exploded in his hand, coming violently as Mark stroked him and fucked him simultaneously.

In a moment, Mark was coming too, and he continued to pull Kyle down onto his lap as he shot hot semen inside of him. Kyle reveled in the slick moisture filling him up and he convulsed one last time before collapsing against Mark, completely spent.

"I would've told you," Kyle whispered, still catching his breath.

"I'm sure," Mark replied, kissing Kyle's shoulder. "Are you ready for your bath now?"

****

"It feels good, doesn't it?" Mark asked, sitting beside the tub as Kyle lay back in the water, faint steam curling towards the ceiling.

Kyle ignored his question, choosing instead to watch droplets of water sliding down the porcelain bathtub. The water was soothing his body and taking the aches out of his skin, but he wasn't about to admit that Mark was right after the shit he pulled earlier. Glancing over at the bathroom sink, he stared resentfully at the collar that sat there, its silver rings catching the light.

"What, are you ignoring me now? Quit being childish, Kyle," Mark said, running a hand through his hair in vexation. "I asked you what was on your phone and you didn't tell me, so I found another way to get the information. What's the big deal?"

"The fact that you don't know what the problem is right now is very concerning," Kyle replied, icily.

"You deliberately didn't tell me that Stan texted you," Mark replied, an edge in his voice. "Because you knew that I'd be concerned. Isn't that right?"

"No, it's because I don't have to tell you everything, Mark," Kyle seethed, shooting him a dirty look.

"Yeah, that seems to be a trend we have going here," Mark said. "Like when you didn't tell me about Becky's date. You made me look like an asshole."

"I already told you, she asked me not to tell you, and did you forget that you already punished me for that?" Kyle snapped, feeling a twinge in his backside from the spanking Mark had given him the night before.

"No, I haven't forgotten, and I'd love to do it again," Mark said, gritting his teeth.

"You know what you are, Mark?" Kyle asked, finally turning to look at him. "You're a big fucking bully, that's what."

"Oh, give me a break. If you'd just tell the truth everything would be just fine!" Mark sighed and gripped the edge of the bathtub, his knuckles turning white. "God, you are so fucking infuriating, you know that?"

"Hmph," Kyle grunted, crossing his arms.

"Oh, like that's an acceptable answer," Mark said, rolling his eyes.

They sat there in silence for a few minutes, both of them fuming. Kyle was resolute in not caving, convinced that he was right, and Mark was fighting the urge to pull Kyle out of the tub and spank his ass until it was bright red. Finally, Mark broke the quiet, his voice soft.

"Don't shut me out like this, okay? I really don't like when you're mad at me, and I honestly never thought I'd say that to another person." When Kyle still refused to speak he continued. "Let's at least talk this out, Kyle. Okay?"

"Fine," Kyle said, relenting a little. "Why'd you get so weird about someone texting me?"

Mark shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I got jealous."

Kyle peered at him, his face skeptical. "Why would you get jealous before you even knew who texted me, or that I'd even received a text in the first place?"

"Oh, come on, Kyle, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that someone had contacted you. You were looking at your phone with that concerned look of yours and I just knew."

"Uh huh, but you had no reason to believe it was from Stan."

"Yeah, right. Think about it, Kyle. Those two morons saw us at Harbucks together just yesterday. It stands to reason that Stan would be coming out of the woodwork to badger you before too long," Mark said, looking at the ceiling in exasperation.

"He isn't badgering me, Mark. Stan's my best friend," Kyle replied, his tone softening. "He just wants to make sure I'm okay."

"Well, I'm sorry if I don't see things quite the same way as you, Kyle. You seem to forget Stan assaulted me not too long ago."

"Let's not even go there," Kyle said, wrapping his arms around his knees and drawing them towards his chest.

"So, what, are you going to run to Stan so he can save you? Is that it?" Mark asked, his face growing somber.

"Save me?" Kyle asked, puzzled. "From what?"

"I wonder."

"Look, I just want to talk to Stan and clear the air, okay? I mean, I owe him an explanation at the very least."

"You don't owe him anything," Mark retorted.

"That's what you think," Kyle murmured. "After all, I chose you over him."

Mark glanced at him, his face a mixture of concern and satisfaction. "Is that so?"

Kyle just sighed and rested his head on his knees, gazing at Mark sadly. After a moment, Mark leaned across him and grabbed a washcloth. "Here, let me wash your back."

"Fine," Kyle replied, listlessly. He closed his eyes as Mark rubbed his skin, warm water cascading over his back and calming him. "Mark?"

"Hmm?"

"What's your favorite color?" Kyle asked, opening his eyes as he dragged a hand through the water, making it froth.

Mark stopped rubbing Kyle's back for a moment. "What?" He asked, clearly puzzled.

"What's your favorite color?"

"Huh? What does that matter?"

Kyle shrugged. "Don't you think we should know stuff like that about each other?"

"I think you should have thought of that before you let me tie you up and fuck you," Mark replied. After a moment, he relented. "Fine, my favorite color is forest green. What's yours?"

"I really like sky blue," Kyle said, smiling.

"Hmm," Mark said, still washing Kyle's back. "What else do you want to know?"

"No, it's your turn now."

"Fine, um. What's your favorite book?"

"The Hobbit."

"You know, I've picked up that book so many times and I just can't get through it." Mark said, pouring water over the back of Kyle's neck.

"Really? I love it. I just get lost in the story." He was quiet a moment. "What's your favorite book?"

"Either In Cold Blood or Lolita," Mark replied.

"Wow, those are kind of on the opposite ends of the spectrum, aren't they?"

"I suppose, but both of the authors write beautifully." He thought a second. "Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee." Mark glanced at Kyle. "Don't you think that's just amazing?"

"I guess, but isn't that the book about the old guy who's in love with a little girl?" Kyle asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mark nodded and shrugged. "A book can have controversial content and still be well written," he said. "A group of women in Iran risked their lives to study that book; that must mean it had something worthwhile to teach us."

"I think people just like scandalous subject matter," Kyle replied.

"I think it's funny that you're being so close-minded while sitting here in my bathtub after we've had pretty dirty sex for the past two days," Mark said, wryly.

"Well, I guess you've got me there," Kyle said, managing to laugh. He looked at Mark and smiled. "You were right, by the way."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I feel a lot better after taking a bath, but I think I'm ready to get out."

"Okay, hold on, I'll grab you a towel." Mark pulled one off of the rack and opened it, waiting for Kyle to step out of the tub. Wrapping it around his shoulders, he hugged Kyle close and kissed his forehead. "Are we still at odds?"

Kyle considered the question. "I think so. You're still irrationally jealous about Stan."

"Can you blame me?" Mark asked.

"A little," Kyle replied, leaving the bathroom. He sat on the edge of the bed to dry his hair, enjoying the heat pouring from the space heater. "But then again, I've been pretty flighty, haven't I?"

"Actually, yeah, you have." Mark ruminated a moment. "You've known Stan pretty much your whole life, right?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"When did you start liking him?"

"Probably in elementary school; I really can't remember exactly when my feelings changed," Kyle said, rubbing his hair dry.

"But you liked him for a long time, right?"

Kyle sighed. "Yes."

"So, how could you leave him after all of that? You guys grew up together, I'm pretty sure you know everything about each other. What happened?"

"I honestly don't know, Mark. You came along and suddenly everything didn't feel the same, you know? I thought I had things planned out but somewhere along the way what I wanted didn't match up with what I had. Does that make any sense?"

Mark nodded. "Yeah, that makes a lot of sense. The same thing happened to me."

"It did?"

"Yes, but I already know my situation won't end like yours did."

"What do you mean?"

Mark waved away the question. "I really don't want to unpack any of this right now, okay?"

"You never want to talk about this, Mark."

"I can't talk about it. Trust me, if I ever get into this with you, you'll understand."

"Are you ever going to tell me what's going on?"

"I really don't know, Kyle. Let's just drop this for now, please." He looked imploringly at Kyle, his eyes surprisingly beseeching. "So," Mark continued, "you're going to see Stan today?"

"I think so. I'll probably be leaving here soon," Kyle replied, almost dry now. He set the towel aside and started dressing.

Mark watched him. "It'll be weird not sleeping in the same bed together tonight," he said.

Kyle glanced at him as he pulled on a shirt. "Mark, you know you really are so hard to figure out."

"I am?"

"Yeah, on the one hand you've said some of the filthiest things I've ever heard come from somebody's mouth, and then, out of nowhere, you'll say sweet things like that. You make absolutely no sense."

"I don't know what to say to that, Kyle. I can't help who I am."

"I know, I'm just saying you confuse me," Kyle said, putting on his jeans.

"Isn't that kind of how all of this started in the first place?" Mark asked.

"Yeah, I think so." Kyle put on his hoody and zipped it. "Well, I think I'm pretty much ready."

"Did you want to stay for breakfast?" Mark had taken the towel Kyle had laid aside and was worrying it in his hands.

"No, I think I need to go see Stan before I lose my nerve," Kyle said.

"Do you want a ride? It's so cold outside," Mark offered, glancing at the frosted windowpanes.

"I think I'll walk, actually. You know, give me time to clear my head." Kyle gathered up his stuff and moved for the door, with Mark close behind him. They walked downstairs and Mark held Kyle's things as he put on his coat.

"You'll text me, right? To let me know how it goes?" Mark asked.

"Of course, I don't need you blowing up my phone if you don't hear from me," Kyle said, rolling his eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow at school, okay?"

"Okay," Mark said, handing over Kyle's bag. He leaned down and kissed Kyle softly on the lips. "This is so weird."

"What is?" Kyle asked, kissing Mark again, a little harder.

"I'm going to miss you."

Kyle smirked. "I'm sure you'll live." He hesitated. "I'll miss you too, though."

They kissed one more time and Kyle opened the door; in a moment, he had closed it behind him, and Mark was gone.

******

"Kyle, hey, I didn't know you were coming by," Stan said, after he'd opened the door to see Kyle standing on the doorstep, shivering in the cold. Stan's face was a mixture of surprise and happiness, with a tinge of apprehension.

"Sorry, I should've called first, but I didn't want to chicken out," Kyle replied.

Stan raised his eyebrows, clearly confused. "Why would you chicken out?"

"I don't know." A gust of cold wind rattled through him, making his teeth chatter. "Did you want to go for a walk or something?"

Stan looked outside at the hard drifts of snow sitting jaggedly on the ground, at the particles of ice blowing like sand across the landscape and he frowned. "Isn't it a little cold to go for a walk?"

"Yeah, but I don't feel like sitting still."

"Well, okay. Hold on, I'll get my coat." Stan disappeared inside the house. Kyle waited, his heart thudding in his chest and fear coursing through his veins. He had no idea how he was going to handle this situation.

After a moment, Stan appeared in the doorway, dressed in his coat and hat. Stepping out of the house, he shut the door behind him and glanced at Kyle. "Did you want to walk to Stark's Pond? I know it's cold enough to walk out into the middle."

"Sure, yeah," Kyle said, walking along beside Stan as they turned out of his driveway and onto the sidewalk. He already felt awkward walking back in the direction he'd come from, towards Mark house and the secrets it contained.

"So," Stan said, breaking the silence, "I heard you and Mark went to Harbucks together yesterday."

"Yeah, I had a feeling Craig would tell you that, especially after Mark told him to go fuck himself," Kyle replied.

"He seriously does not like Mark, dude. Tweek isn't too fond of him either."

Kyle shrugged helplessly. "I guess he's not the most likeable person in the world."

Stan lapsed into silence as they continued to walk, the savage cold ravaging the parts of their bodies not covered by clothes. Kyle noticed that Stan made no attempt to hold his hand or put his arm around him, but he wasn't too surprised. A twinge of sadness coursed through him at the memory of walking this same path with Stan before, but that time it had been early summer and their shoulders had brushed together; filling Kyle with butterflies and hope.

They had reached the forest circling Stark's Pond now, the icy wind whipping through the trees around them and making them sway drunkenly. The forest had been stripped of its leaves and its vibrant color, and the whole world had been plunged into shades of gray, white, and blue. Everything felt as stark as Kyle's heart in that moment, and he could feel tears building up inside him that he tried to ignore.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on, Kyle?" Stan asked, breaking the silence that wasn't filled up with the winds scraping across the earth and their footsteps crunching through the icy crust under their shoes.

"I don't know what to say," Kyle said, jamming his hands in the pockets of his coat. They'd come to the edge of the pond, and Kyle noticed that the surface hadn't frozen in a flat sheet of ice, rather, it had been flash-frozen in waves that rose in humps away towards the horizon. He tried to remember the way it had looked during the height of summer, with the sun glowing on it turning the water to gold.

"Why don't you just tell me the truth?" Stan asked, gently.

"I'm not even sure how to do that," Kyle said, and the hateful tears rose to the surface and threatened to fall. He scraped them away with his hands.

Stan watched him, his face somber, until his eyes caught something that made them widen. "Kyle, what happened to your mouth?"

Kyle reached up and felt his still puffy lip, and he glanced away, embarrassed.

"Mark didn't hit you or something, did he?" Stan asked, anger washing over his face. "Did he?"

Kyle shook his head and looked down at his shoes. "No, he didn't do anything like that."

"Kyle, please tell me what's going on. I hate being in the dark like this," Stan pleaded. He reached out and put his hands on Kyle's shoulders.

"Stan, I-" Kyle stopped and took a deep breath. Stan waited, an expectant look on his face.

Kyle tried again, but this time he willed himself to see it through. "Mark and I slept together."

Stan just stared at him, his eyes wide and his hands slackening on Kyle's shoulders. He stepped back like he'd been punched in the gut. "What?" He said, faintly, like all of the breath had been stolen from his lungs.

"Mark and I slept together," Kyle repeated, but this time his voice was barely a whisper.

Stan turned away and gripped his forehead with his hand, his shoulders hunched like he was waiting for a blow. He walked over to the edge of the pond and leaned down, hugging his knees against his chest. Kyle waited for a moment and then followed him, coming to stand at his side.

"Stan-" he started to say.

"Don't," Stan said. "Just, don't. Okay?"

Silence descended over them as Kyle groped for something to say, but knew in this instance that nothing he could say would make this situation alright. He glanced up at the horizon, at the large houses looming just beyond the pond, and he wondered if Mark was standing on his balcony, smoking and looking across the grounds at the town of South Park, starting to light up as a mid-afternoon storm rolled in; bringing darkness with it.

The quiet between them stretched on until it became unbearable, and Kyle cleared his throat lightly, trying to get Stan's attention. Stan just continued to look out across the stark wasteland of the pond, his breaths coming ragged and fast now.

"How could you?" He finally asked, his voice struggling up through his throat and not sounding at all like himself.

"I don't know," Kyle answered, quietly. "It just happened."

Stan stood up and turned to him, his face fierce and angry. "Bullshit," he seethed. "It didn't just happen, Kyle. You made it happen. You helped it happen. Didn't you?"

"I-I guess so," Kyle faltered. "I don't know. Stan, I'm sorry."

"You're sorry," Stan said, mocking him. "Yeah, I bet you're fucking sorry." He walked towards Kyle, his face morphed into an angry mask that Kyle had never seen. "I bet you're sorry that you let Mark fuck you, huh? What, it wasn't enough that he raped you, you had to let him fuck you again when you could remember it?"

Kyle stared at him, unable to believe the cruel things Stan was saying. He had never, ever spoken to Kyle like that, in the entire sixteen years they'd known each other. "Stan," he said, his voice brittle like it was on the verge of breaking entirely. "I can't believe you just said that to me."

"And I can't believe you had sex with Mark! I mean, Jesus Christ, Kyle, where the fuck is your self respect? Let's just overlook the fact that you royally fucked me over, but, god, will you listen to yourself? You fell apart because you thought this guy raped you, okay? You thought, no, I'm pretty sure you know, that he drugged you and he raped you and now," he stopped, looking up at the sky like he truly thought Kyle was going insane, "and now you're, what? Dating him? Are you two dating, Kyle, or are you just fuck buddies?"

Kyle reeled for a moment but he managed to find his voice, and now he was starting to become just as angry as Stan. "What we are is none of your fucking business, Stan." He stepped up to Stan, who seemed surprised to see Kyle becoming aggressive. "Look, I'm sorry that I hurt you, and I hate myself for doing it, but, you can't talk to me like that, got it? Where the fuck do you even get off saying shit like that to me, huh?"

"I think I earned that right once you started fucking the guy who sexually assaulted you," Stan replied, his tone caustic. "And, I fucking earned that right when you cheated on me with him. I don't believe for one moment that he kissed you at the Halloween party and you were just an innocent victim. I wouldn't be surprised if you initiated the whole thing. You're sick, it's like you enjoy being abused."

Without thinking, Kyle hauled back and punched Stan clean across the face, throwing him off his feet by sheer surprise. Stan staggered and almost fell to the ground and he looked at Kyle while gripping his face, his eyes wide and blood dribbling down his chin. Kyle just stared at him, breathing heavily and in shock at what he'd just done. Looking down at his clenched fist, he opened his mouth to speak and nothing came out.

Stan gazed at the droplets of blood that were running down his lip and into his gloved hand for a few moments, and when he looked up, his face was blank and he looked at Kyle like he was looking at a stranger. Without a word, he turned and started walking away from Kyle, away from the pond, and Kyle could only watch him go before he came to his senses and ran after him.

"Stan! Stan, wait, please," he said, crying now. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry; please, don't go. Just stop, okay?" He reached out and grabbed Stan's shoulder but Stan broke his hold, continuing to walk away. "Stan, please, please just talk to me!" Kyle yelled and he started to sob.

Stan stopped but he didn't turn around. "We're done, Kyle."

"No, we can't be," Kyle sobbed. "We're best friends!"

"No, we're not," Stan said, his voice flat. "You chose Mark, didn't you? Then fucking go cry to him. I don't want to hear your bullshit anymore." He turned, and Kyle had never seen Stan look so cold. "Just don't come crying to me when he leaves you completely alone, because as far as I'm concerned, that's exactly what you deserve."


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been my experience that people can't see the forest for the trees when they're in the throes of destruction.
> 
> Usually they only realize the truth after it's too late.

>  
> 
> **"The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of... We know the truth not only by the reason, but by the heart." - Blaise Pascal**

 

 **Some say the world will end in fire,**  
**Some say in ice.**  
**From what I’ve tasted of desire**  
**I hold with those who favor fire.**  
**But if it had to perish twice,**  
**I think I know enough of hate**  
**To say that for destruction ice**  
**Is also great**  
**And would suffice.**

**-Fire and Ice by Robert Frost**

  ********

The cold crept through Kyle's clothes and into his back, burning as it reached his skin. He had been looking up into the white sky for so long that he was having trouble keeping track of which side of the earth he was on, and he was afraid for a moment that he was actually floating away. He turned his cheek and rested it against the ice to steady himself, and he looked out across Stark's Pond, imagining the dark, pulsing waters beneath the frosted surface. Perhaps too late, he thought about the thickness of the ice, and how safe it was, but decided he didn't care either way.

The sky loomed gigantic above him, opening up until he saw worlds upon worlds in the gathering gray clouds and the starkness of it all threatened to overwhelm him. Closing his eyes, Kyle drifted. He thought about the way ice could burn your skin and make it feel like you were on fire, and he tried to remember the poem that inquired whether the world would end in fire or ice. Maybe it would be a combination of the two?

Kyle also wondered vaguely whether a horrible monster of the deep would come through the ice and swallow him whole before he could react. He could only attribute the direction of his thoughts to being out in the cold for too long, but he'd lost track of time after Stan had left him by himself. Remembering Stan's face and the rage that had distorted it, coupled with the grief, made Kyle want to sink into the cold and disappear. Even though he'd caused all of this, his heart ached like a wound and he would've cried if he still had the strength.

The cold was settling into his flesh and bones, and he was stiff and drowsy, but he continued to lay on the ice in the middle of the pond. All around him the static icy waves spread away and snow had started to sift down from above, covering everything in its quiet way. The wind skittered over the drifts, kicking them up, and flakes came to settle on Kyle's clothes and hair; a few wayward ice particles becoming trapped in his eyelashes. He blinked them away.

His phone had started to ring a couple of times, but he ignored it until it went to voicemail. Whether it was Mark or his parents or maybe even Stan (though he doubted it), he had no idea. He just wanted to be by himself for a while; just exist and drift through these crazy thoughts created by sadness and cold. Kyle continued to reel from the things that Stan had said, but he knew in the deepest, most honest part of himself that'd he'd deserved them.

"And I hit him," he said, softly. "I hit Stan." He was still in disbelief about that but the throbbing in his fist reinforced the fact that he'd punched Stan right across the face; making him bleed. How the fuck did he even get to this point?

He thought about Mark and he wanted to be angry, but he knew he had no right to be. Kyle had walked into the cage that Mark had prepared for him and locked the door behind himself. He'd invited him in like the vampire he was, and now Mark was there, woven into the very fabric of Kyle's life. The memory of being in Mark's arms just that morning, writhing and moaning as he had entered him made Kyle sit up and cover his face with his hands. As much as he wanted to be with Mark again he just wanted the thoughts to stop; he needed the guilt to go away.

He clumsily got to his feet, his body numb and barely able to move, and he started staggering towards the shore, his shoes sliding over the ice. Kyle had been an idiot and not worn his boots so he could barely get his grip on the slick surface even with the gritty snow providing some traction. He almost fell but was able to catch himself at the last moment. The snow was swirling down harder now, making it so Kyle had to squint as he picked his way along. For a moment he thought he saw Stan waiting on the shore for him, but he blinked and the illusion was gone as quickly as it came.

Kyle managed to cross the pond and make it to the snow-laden grass, and he passed through the windswept forest on the way back to town. The windows in town were coming alive with warm, yellow light as darkness continued to fall along with the storm, and they guided him through the haze of snow that almost blinded him. Somehow, he stumbled home and walked into the living room, bringing the treacherous chill with him; surprising his family who was on the couch watching television.

"Kyle, how long have you been outside?" His mother asked, jumping up. An afghan slid from her lap onto the floor. "Your lips are blue! Gerald, get something warm for Kyle to drink."

"No, I'm fine, mom," Kyle said, thickly, trying to get his mouth to work through the numbness gripping his face. "I just want to go upstairs."

"I really think you should have some hot tea or something, sweetie. Gerald?" She turned to her husband, her face expectant. Mr. Broflovski stood from his chair and laid his copy of Harpers aside.

"Mom, no, I don't want anything, okay? I'm going to my room," Kyle said, pushing her away. He headed for the stairs and managed to hold onto the banister, his hand almost unresponsive. "I'll let you know if I need anything."

"Kyle, please, I just-"

"No! Leave me alone!" Kyle shouted. He awkwardly ascended the staircase while ignoring the shocked look on his parents' faces. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Ike watching him, his face serious. He made it to his room where he shut the door behind him, and went directly to his bed and lay down, still wearing his coat. A little sob escaped Kyle's lips but he clamped his hand over his mouth; he didn't want his family to hear him as he cried.

*****

"Dude, Kyle, you look terrible," Kenny said as he took a drink of coffee.

"Thanks for letting me know," Kyle replied. "Really, it means a lot."

It was the next morning and Kyle had gotten up early to go to Harbucks, hoping that by some miracle Stan would be there. He'd been greeted by Kenny instead, who'd secured their favorite table and was drinking his usual small, black coffee. He'd brushed his scruffy blonde hair out of his eyes when he'd seen Kyle, apparently trying to get a better look at the disaster that sat before him.

"I'm just saying, you look really tired." Kenny leaned closer. "And what happened to your lip?"

"It doesn't matter. Have you talked to Stan?" Kyle asked, gripping the edge of the table. He hadn't bothered to buy any breakfast; it wasn't like he had an appetite anyway.

Kenny raised an eyebrow. "Not since Friday. Why, what's going on?"

"Nothing," Kyle muttered.

"Cut the crap, Kyle. What's wrong?" Kenny asked, setting his coffee aside.

Kyle bit his lip and looked down at the table. "Well, we kind of got into a fight."

Kenny's eyes widened. "Seriously? You and Stan?"

Kyle nodded, still staring at the table.

"What happened? You guys never fight."

Kyle sighed. "God, it's a long story." He looked up from the table, and at that moment, he saw Mark walk into the Harbucks and glance around, clearly looking for something.

"You've got to be kidding me. What the hell is he doing here?" Kyle muttered, staring at Mark as he wound his way through the crowd.

"What, who?" Kenny asked, looking over his shoulder.

"You'll know in just a second," Kyle said. Mark had caught his eye and was walking over to their table. When he approached, Kyle smiled up at him weakly.

"Oh, hey," Kenny said, glancing between Kyle and Mark; clearly confused.

"Hey," Mark replied, still looking at Kyle. "Can I sit down?"

Kenny looked at Kyle and shrugged. "Sure, man." He moved over so Mark could take his seat.

"Thanks," Mark replied, sitting down. He raised his eyebrows at Kyle. "You're not having anything?"

"I'm not hungry," Kyle said.

"You know something's wrong when Kyle doesn't want a latte in the morning," Kenny interjected. He grinned at Mark who just stared at him.

Mark turned back to Kyle. "I tried calling you last night."

"I went to bed early."

"You went to bed at 7?"

"Yes, I did. Is that a problem?"

"Uh, is everything okay, you guys? I'm sensing some tension," Kenny said, fiddling with his coffee cup.

"Everything's fine, Kenny. Are you ready to leave?" Kyle asked, grabbing his bag.

"Actually, Kenny, can you excuse us? I need to talk to Kyle for a second," Mark said, quietly.

Kenny glanced at Kyle, a questioning look on his face.

"You go on ahead, dude," Kyle said, setting his bag back down. "I'll see you in homeroom, I guess."

"Are you sure?" Kenny asked, still not making a move to leave.

"Yeah, it's okay."

Kenny stood and grabbed his coffee. He slung his backpack on his shoulder while narrowing his eyes at Mark, who acted like he didn't notice. "Text me if you need me, Kyle."

"Sure."

After a moment, Kenny had walked away leaving Kyle and Mark alone.

"What's going on, Kyle? You told me you'd text me last night and I didn't get one fucking message from you. I was worried."

Kyle crossed his arms. "I had a lot on my mind, okay? I really wasn't in a place to talk to anyone."

"Oh, so a promise from you is contingent on your frame of mind? That's a lot of bullshit, Kyle. It's also not fair," Mark said, anger creeping into his voice.

"Look, I met up with Stan, just like I said I would, and-" Kyle broke off, fighting back tears.

Mark waited, not saying anything, but his face softened a little.

"It didn't go well," Kyle said. "At all."

"What happened?"

"I told him we slept together and he just got so mad, Mark. I've never seen him so angry. And he was so hurt, too." Kyle looked down at his hands, tears gathering in his eyes to the point where he couldn't see.

Mark was quiet for a moment. "How did you think he was going to respond, though? You weren't surprised, were you?" He finally asked.

"No, I wasn't surprised, but he was so vicious. I never thought he would ever talk to me the way he did; like I was a dog or something," Kyle said, and the tears were falling now. "I deserved everything he said, of course, but that didn't make it any easier to hear."

"What did he say?"

Kyle drew in a shuddering breath. "He basically said that I get off on you abusing me and that I'm sleeping with my own rapist."

Mark's eyes widened. "Wow, that is vicious."

"Yeah, that's probably why I punched him," Kyle said, rubbing his fist under the table.

"Seriously? You hit Stan? I don't believe it."

"I'm not proud of it, but I did. I punched him right across the face. He started bleeding."

"It kind of sounds like he had that coming, though. I can understand him being pissed off, Kyle, but he can't just talk to you any way he wants; regardless of what you've done."

"It's not like it matters at this point anyway," Kyle lamented, leaning his head on his hand. "I tried calling him a million times last night...he never picked up."

"Oh, so you had the presence of mind to call him but you couldn't even text me to tell me you were okay?" Mark asked, cocking an eyebrow. "I could barely sleep last night because I was worried about you, Kyle. Doesn't that count for anything?"

"It counts for a lot but you don't seem to get what I'm saying, Mark. I lost my best friend yesterday, okay? The person I've gone to for everything in the last ten plus years is gone, and I lost him in less than a day. I don't even know how to deal with any of this." The tears that Kyle had been holding back were falling freely now, and he covered his face with his hands, hating Mark's sympathetic face; hating everything.

Mark was quiet for a while as Kyle sobbed, but he finally spoke, his voice soft. "You may not believe me now but please listen, okay? I know you think that Stan is going to be mad at you forever, but I promise you that this is temporary. There's going to come a day where you two will reconcile, and it's probably going to be a lot sooner than you think."

"How can you be so sure?" Kyle asked, wiping tears from his eyes with shaky hands.

Mark shrugged. "It's human nature. People naturally want to forgive and forget. Trust me, just give it time."

"I wish it were that easy."

"I know it's cliche but if any of this were easy would it even be worth having? At the end of the day, Stan responded the way he did because he's hurt. It's not because he doesn't care about you, it's probably because he cares about you too much."

Kyle stared at him. "Why are you giving this so much thought? You don't even like Stan."

"No, I don't like him at all, but I like you, Kyle. I'm willing to help put this whole thing in perspective if it'll help you feel better. So, do you?"

"Not really, honestly."

"Do you want to have sex? Would that help?" Mark asked, smiling.

"Where the fuck did that even come from? Are you for real?" Kyle asked. He was so shocked that he stopped crying.

"I'm tired of being serious; it's wearing," Mark said, shifting restlessly in his chair.

"You're completely insane. I'm going to school," Kyle said, sniffing and rising from his seat. He pulled his messenger bag onto his shoulder.

"Come on, I'll drive you. If you had answered your damn phone last night I would've been able to tell you that I'd be picking you up this morning." Mark stood as well and followed him out the door, his hand pressing against the small of Kyle's back.

******

The rest of the week passed in a haze for Kyle as he tried to deal with Stan blatantly ignoring him no matter what he said or did. He even had Kenny talk to him at one point, but that proved to be completely ineffective.

"No dice, man," Kenny said, walking up to Kyle at the end of the day, right before he was going to head to tutoring. "Stan said you can get fucked twelve ways from Sunday."

Kyle slammed his locker and stared at Kenny. "He didn't really say that, did he?"

"Well, no, not in so many words, but that's basically what he meant." Kenny leaned against the lockers, his backpack dangling from his hand. "Dude, what'd you do? I've never seen Stan this pissed. Not at you, anyway." He looked at Kyle for a moment, an idea seeming to form his mind. "Does this have anything to do with that weirdo, Mark?"

"Partially, yeah," Kyle admitted.

"Right, partially. That's why he's constantly hanging around you," Kenny replied. "Seriously, what's going on, Kyle? Everyone is talking shit about you, so I really want to know the real story. I want to be able to tell people to go fuck themselves when they start talking out of their asses."

"People are talking about me?" Kyle asked, frowning. He wasn't used to being the subject of gossip and rumors.

"You had to know that."

"I guess. It's still weird to have someone point it out."

Kenny looked over Kyle's shoulder and groaned. "Ugh, speak of the devil."

Kyle felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Mark standing there, his eyes trained on Kenny. "Are you ready to go to tutoring, Kyle?" He asked.

"Hi, Mark," Kenny said, his tone overly bright and exaggerated.

"Hey," Mark replied, looking at Kenny like he didn't know what to make of him. He never seemed to know how to respond to him, mainly because Kenny didn't capitulate to Mark the same way other people did.

"Call me tonight, okay?" Kyle asked. "I need to talk to you about what people have been saying."

"Sure thing," Kenny said, straightening up. "Why don't we just go out to Starks and drink a few beers? I have some in reserve."

"I'll meet you at the pond but I'm not drinking."

"Whatever. Just text me to let me know what's going on," Kenny said, walking away down the hall. At the last moment, he waved at Mark and chirped, "Later, gator!"

"Why do you even hang out with him?" Mark asked as he and Kyle walked toward the library. "He's so fucking weird."

"Look who's talking," Kyle said, rolling his eyes.

"Watch it," Mark replied, darkly. "Besides, I thought we were hanging out tonight."

"Why don't you come along?" Kyle asked. "You need to make some friends, Mark. You can't just hang out with me and your sister all the time."

"This is fucked up, Kyle. You told me all week we would spend tonight together. I mean, you had your internship yesterday, and you volunteered at the Red Cross on Tuesday. Jesus Christ, do you ever take a break?"

"Now you're starting to sound like Stan," Kyle replied, feeling a pang of sadness.

"And that's another thing, are you going to try and lighten up a little bit about Stan? I already told you-you guys are going to make up so moping about it isn't going to help," Mark snapped.

"God, why are you in such a bad mood, Mark?"

Mark groaned. "I'm just frustrated. I don't like missing you when you're not around. I don't like not being able to control this situation. It's infuriating."

"Look, why don't we just hang out with Kenny after tutoring and then go do our own thing? I miss my friends, Mark. Sometimes I feel completely disconnected from everything."

"Fine, but I'll probably complain the whole time," Mark scowled.

"I would expect nothing less."

Tutoring passed uneventfully enough, with Ben and Nathan dutifully solving the problems that Kyle had prepared for them, but he couldn't help but notice that Mark still seemed irritated, even as he labored over problems with Malcolm. From across the room, Kyle could see that telltale look on Mark's face, the underlying frustration that seemed to always be bubbling just beneath the surface of his mood. Once or twice Mark caught Kyle's eye, and he looked at him meaningfully, but Kyle wasn't sure what he was trying to convey.

Finally, Mr. Mackey came into the library and announced that tutoring was over for another week, and everyone was packing up and leaving; the room emptying out quickly. Mark came over to Kyle as he was still putting his things in order, and stood beside him, watching as he placed his things inside his bag and zipped it up.

"You ready?" Kyle asked, standing.

"Yeah, but we need to make a little detour first." Mark caught Kyle's hand in his own, gripping it tightly. He smiled.

"Huh? But Kenny's waiting to hear from me so we can hang out," Kyle said, following Mark as he pulled him out of the library. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see," Mark said, vaguely, leading Kyle down the hall. Coming to the bathroom, he opened the door and motioned for Kyle to enter.

Kyle arched an eyebrow. "If you needed to use the bathroom you could've just told me, you know," he said, walking into the room.

When they walked in they saw Butters at the row of sinks, washing his hands and humming to himself. In one of the stalls a toilet flushed, but the person inside made no move to exit. Butters looked up as they entered and smiled.

"Hey, fellas! That was a great tutoring session, huh?"

Kyle glanced at Mark, feeling awkward. "Uh, yeah, Butters. It was the best."

"Do you have any plans for the weekend?" Butters asked, finishing up at the sink and going to dry his hands.

"No, not really," Kyle replied. "You?"

"Kenny invited me out to Starks Pond tonight!" Butters gushed, picking up his backpack.

"Oh, well I guess we'll see you later. Kenny invited us to the pond, too."

"Hey, that's great! See you then, guys!" Butters waved as he headed for the exit, his blue eyes bright.

When he was gone, Kyle turned to Mark and frowned. "Well, are you going to go to the bathroom? Kenny's waiting and now so is Butters, apparently."

Mark responded by grabbing Kyle's arm and leading him into the biggest stall in the bathroom, shutting the door behind them. He locked it and turned to Kyle.

"What are you doing?" Kyle asked in a fierce whisper. "There's someone else in here, you know." He pointed his finger in the direction of the still occupied stall that was only several yards away.

Mark just grinned in the way that Kyle was starting to associate with his sadistic streak. It wasn't so much a smile as he was merely baring his teeth like some vicious animal. Instinctively, Kyle moved away until his back hit the wall. He didn't want to run the risk of drawing attention to them being in the same stall so he just narrowed his eyes at Mark and held out his hand to ward him off.

With the twisted leer on his face, Mark advanced on Kyle and placed his hands against the wall on either side of Kyle's head, effectively trapping him. Leaning down, he kissed Kyle's lips until he started to respond, his tongue slipping inside of Kyle's mouth. Kyle brought his hands up to rest on Mark's chest and he tried to push him away, but his attempt was weak.

"You're crazy. Why are you doing this here?" Kyle said softly and breathlessly against his mouth as Mark's tongue licked along his lips, opening them again. Kyle froze when he heard the bathroom door open, and multiple people could be heard entering the room, laughing and chattering.

Kyle turned his face away and looked toward the direction of the voices. "It's the fucking soccer team," he hissed. "I forgot that they were practicing today."

"So? Who cares?" Mark dipped his head down and kissed Kyle's mouth again, but this time he was more aggressive; not letting Kyle move away. They kissed until Kyle was completely breathless, gasping against Mark's mouth and pushing him away more forcefully.

"We can't do this, Mark. They'll hear us. Let's go." He whispered, and he turned to pick up his bag but Mark stopped him, grabbing his arm and pulling him back to him.

"We're doing this, Kyle," he murmured, looking into Kyle's eyes. The same meaningful look that Kyle couldn't interpret in the library was back on Mark's face, but now he understood. "Don't worry, I'll make it quick, okay?"

Kyle tried to break away toward the door but Mark reached out and wrapped a hand around his arm, yanking him backward and slamming him up against the wall. Kyle whimpered but Mark placed a hand over his mouth, shushing him softly. "You don't want them to hear us, do you?" He asked, his face breaking into his awful false-smile again. Kyle stared at him and wondered how someone so attractive could have such a thread of cruelty running through their personality.

Glancing at the door, Kyle could hear some of the members of the soccer team talking and just generally fucking around. They were talking about their next game, the weather being cold as balls, and then-

"Hey, aren't you going out with that Rebecca chick tonight?" A voice asked, and Kyle recognized it as Craig's. Mark's hand tightened over his mouth at the sound, and his face started to change; the rage was rising up. Glancing at Kyle, his eyes were dark in a way that made Kyle afraid.

"Yeah, I think we're going to the movies or something," Kevin replied, his voice sweet and a little vague.

At the sound of Kevin's voice, Mark reached down and unbuttoned Kyle's jeans, still keeping his hand tight over Kyle's mouth. Yanking them down, he turned him around to face the wall, pressing Kyle's cheek up against the cold tiles.

"Don't make a sound," Mark whispered in Kyle's ear, and Kyle nodded, biting his lip.

Mark's fingers were delving into Kyle when Craig spoke again, his voice full of contempt.

"I just hope you don't have to deal with that brother of hers. I mean, seriously, how fucking weird is he?"

Mark became still for a moment after hearing these words, but as quickly as he stopped he continued, slipping a second finger inside of Kyle, who pressed back against him and panted, his breath fogging up the tiles slightly. He slid his fingers in and out of Kyle, preparing him.

"I don't know, he doesn't seem too bad, I guess," Kevin said, after a moment. "Rebecca's always talking about how great he is so there has to be something good about him, right?"

Kyle gasped when he felt a third finger sliding into him, opening him up until the sensation was almost unbearable. Mark was becoming increasingly aggressive, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could stay quiet. Thankfully, the soccer team was running the water in the sinks and flushing the toilets, which helped to cover up any noise Mark and Kyle were making. Kyle was also thankful that Mark had pulled him into the stall that was farthest from the door and sinks, and that the bathroom was of a good size.

"I don't know, man," Craig said. "He gives me the creeps. Have you noticed that he's all over Kyle these days? What's up with that? I wonder what happened to him and Stan?"

Now it was Kyle's turn to freeze, and he became so distracted that he almost groaned when Mark pulled his fingers out of him and nudged his knee in between Kyle's legs, pushing them further apart.

"Oh, who cares about that? Kevin, dude, how far have you gone with her? Please tell me you've at least seen Rebecca's tits." It was Clyde talking now, his mouth-breathing voice echoing off the tiles.

When Mark heard this his fingers tightened on Kyle's hips until he almost cried out, and he was thrusting into Kyle harder than he ever had before. Pumping his hips, he drove into Kyle viciously. It took all of Kyle's control not to make a sound, but somehow he held back, trembling as Mark fucked him relentlessly.

"No, she isn't like that," Kevin said, his voice a little dreamy. "She's really sweet, actually. I wouldn't be surprised if she was a virgin."

Surprisingly, Mark laughed softly at this as he continued to push himself into Kyle, his pace still agonizingly rough. Kyle opened his eyes and glanced back at Mark, and he almost looked like a stranger to him at that moment.

"Then you need to hit that, man. What are you waiting for? If I was going out with her I would've fucked her as soon as I had the chance," Clyde said.

These words seemed to drive Mark over the edge and he was fucking Kyle so hard that he didn't think he could physically take it, and Mark's hands were ruthlessly pulling Kyle's hips back to meet his thrusts until tears were falling from Kyle's eyes, and he sagged against the wall. Without realizing it, he moaned, and Mark wrapped his arm around Kyle's face, his hand settling on his mouth.

In quick, bruising strokes Mark plunged inside Kyle until he came, holding him close as he finished, his hot come filling up Kyle and dripping down his skin and along the back of his thigh. Mark's hand was still clamped on Kyle's mouth and he breathed frantically through his nose, terrified that he might collapse at any moment.

"Hey, did you guys hear something?" Craig asked, suddenly.

The bathroom was plunged into silence save for Mark and Kyle's ragged breathing. Kyle prayed that they would just leave soon, and he went slack in Mark's arms, exhausted. Mark moved his hand away from Kyle's mouth and he kissed the nape of his neck, his warm breath flush against Kyle's skin.

"Nah, I didn't hear a thing. Come on, I think I'm ready to get the hell out of here," Clyde said. Footsteps headed for the door, it opened, and then all was quiet.

Mark slid out of Kyle gently and Kyle turned around, resting his back against the wall and gasping, finally able to breathe and make sounds without restriction. Mark watched him, his eyes wild and his chest heaving with deep breaths.

"Sorry," Mark said, catching his breath. "I think I just needed a rage fuck."

"Is that what you want to call it?" Kyle asked, his back still against the wall; the cold tiles sending a chill through him even with his coat on. His body was starting to pulse from what Mark had done to him, and he ached in his hips and backside. "Why did we have to do this here? Why now?"

Mark shrugged. "It's been awhile, Kyle. I didn't want to wait any longer, especially since you made plans for us tonight."

"Is that where the rage is coming from? Because I made plans without asking you first?" Kyle was reaching for the toilet paper to try and clean himself up.

"Partially, but I also wasn't too thrilled about what those assholes were saying about my sister," Mark said, his face still holding some of the anger from before.

Kyle was wiping himself down as best he could, and saw that Mark's come had managed to travel pretty far down the back of his leg. "Kevin didn't say anything bad about Rebecca. He said she's sweet, isn't that a good thing?"

"Well, yeah, but the fact that she's even wasting her time on him at all is the problem. And Clyde, god, I fucking hate that guy." He thought a moment, and a genuine smile spread across his face. "Sorry, I was just fantasizing about kicking the shit out of him."

"I can't blame you there, dude; Clyde is disgusting. But Kevin seems nice, so I'm not sure what your issue is with him."

"I don't care how nice he is, Kyle. Christ, he could be the pope and I still wouldn't want Becky dating him. Did you hear the way they were talking about her like she's a slut or something? This is exactly why I didn't want her fucking around with the guys at this school." Mark was cleaning up, too, and he threw the toilet paper into the commode.

"Yeah, I get that, but Kevin didn't say anything." Kyle was finally somewhat clean and he was pulling up his jeans. "What's really going on here? You are so stubborn when it comes to this subject; like, you're not even willing to see reason."

Mark was buttoning his pants and straightening his clothes. Reaching down, he grabbed his bag from the corner where he'd stashed it and pulled it onto his shoulder. When he saw that Kyle was ready he looked under the stall, clearly checking to see if they were alone, and he opened the door, waiting for Kyle to leave first.

"You have a brother, right?" Mark asked, going to the sink to wash his hands while Kyle followed suit.

"Yeah, a younger brother. Why?"

"Aren't you protective of him? I mean, if you saw him making decisions that might potentially hurt him, wouldn't you step in and say something?"

"Of course I would," Kyle replied, rinsing his hands. "But I don't think your sister is doing anything that might hurt her. I think she's just trying to have a normal social life." He turned away from the sink so he could grab some paper towels. He gave Mark a pointed look. "That's something you might want to consider for yourself."

"God, you are on a roll with your smart ass mouth today," Mark said, drying his hands too. "I'm starting to realize that you're not going to get where I'm coming from when it comes to this, huh?"

"I just think you're being too inflexible, Mark. Besides, your sister is old enough to take care of herself, so just, you know, let her. Christ, I've never seen a guy so hung up on his sister."

"Twins are different from regular siblings, Kyle. If you had one, you'd understand that."

"I'm sure I would. But from an outsider's perspective, you seem like you're kind of nuts." Kyle adjusted his bag on his shoulder and gestured toward the door. "Are we finally ready to go so I can call Kenny?"

Mark clenched a fist and looked away, smiling. "Sure, why the fuck not?"

*****

The bonfire was raging against the sky, its flames crawling upward in flashes of orange, red, and white, with small tinges of blue pulsing like a heart at its center. It poured off copious amounts of heat that Kyle could feel even from far away, and he watched as embers and sparks floated away on the wind whistling through his hair. Mark had stepped away to grab them some drinks, so he was standing alone, taking in the scene before him.

The little get-together at Sparks Pond had somehow morphed into a huge party, and tons of people had shown up to drink, smoke, and enjoy the bonfire that Kenny built close to the water. Music was blasting and Kyle was anxious about the cops arriving to break things up, which usually happened when Kenny threw a rager. Anxiously, he watched as his classmates danced and milled around the bonfire; some had even slid out onto the ice and were trying to drunkenly figure skate even though no one had thought to bring skates.

"I think it's pretty humorous that you keep getting on my case about being social and then you drag me to something like this," Mark said, coming up beside him. He handed Kyle a bottle of water.

"I had no idea it was going to be like this," Kyle replied, twisting the cap off and taking a drink. "Besides, you're always drinking and smoking, what's wrong with doing it with a whole bunch of people?"

"Because I don't like any of these people." Mark took a drink of beer and glared at the crowd.

"Oh, whatever. You like Wendy. See? She's right over there."

"Yeah, making out with Eric Cartman. God, that's so gross."

"Well, okay, you've got me there. But, still, you like her. You're always talking to her in class."

"I confer with her, Kyle, we're not exactly buddies. But, I guess she's tolerable enough," he conceded. "The only good thing about being here is that I can keep an eye on Becky."

Looking across the crowd, Kyle saw Rebecca talking with Kevin and some of his friends from the soccer team. Kyle flushed, remembering the incident in the bathroom, his hips still throbbing from Mark's aggressive hands. Kevin reached over and put his arm around Rebecca, pulling her close. He could feel Mark stiffening up beside him so Kyle was sure he'd seen him do that as well.

"Relax, okay? Rebecca actually looks pretty happy, so just let her be," Kyle said, nudging him.

"I am relaxed, Kyle. If I weren't I'd already be over there beating the shit out of that guy," Mark replied, gritting his teeth.

Kenny appeared then, a beer in his hand and with Butters at his side. "Hey, this is a great party, huh? It's amazing how much it blew up after I ran into Bebe on my way out of the school."

"Yeah, that'll do it," Kyle replied, rolling his eyes. He wasn't exactly happy with Bebe at the moment because he was sure she had contributed to the shit talking that was going on about him and Mark. She always had to be in everyone's business. "Craig isn't here, is he?" Kyle wasn't happy with him either because he'd been the one to tell Stan about him and Mark going to Harbucks together.

"Probably," Kenny said, taking a swig of beer. He pulled Butters into a one-armed hug and kissed his cheek, making Butters giggle girlishly. "Are you having a good time, man?" He asked, looking at Mark, who'd become silent when Kenny and Butters had appeared.

Mark shrugged. "I guess. At least there's booze." He held up his beer bottle, which was already empty.

"Hey, take as much as you want. Everyone was really cool about bringing whatever they had," Kenny grinned, still hugging Butters against him.

"I thought we were going to talk about the rumors going around about me," Kyle said. "You said everyone was talking shit. What are they saying exactly?"

"Just that you fucked over Stan to be with him," Kenny replied, gesturing at Mark with his beer bottle.

"I didn't fuck Stan over," Kyle said, bristling. "We weren't even together when Mark and I-" he broke off, having almost revealed that he and Mark had had sex.

Kenny looked at him knowingly. "I think I can read between the lines here, dude. I don't think you were trying to screw anyone over, but Stan is seriously hurt right now. I mean, he was pissed when I talked to him for you, but he's really just upset. You know how Stan gets...he's always been too sensitive."

"Yeah, I know." Kyle looked down at the ground, trying to collect his thoughts. He looked up and saw that Kenny was watching him, his eyes a little sad. "Then why won't he talk to me? He won't even give me a chance to explain."

"Probably because he's always around you," Kenny said, gesturing at Mark with his beer bottle again. Mark frowned.

"I'm sure there's been plenty of opportunities for Stan to talk to Kyle when I'm not there," Mark said, annoyed. "He just doesn't want to deal with any of this so naturally, I'm to blame."

"Yeah, you are to blame, dude. Not to sound like a soap opera or whatever, but you basically stole Kyle from Stan and now Stan has to see you two all over school together. Can you blame him for avoiding all of this?" Kenny asked, setting aside his usual laid back tone for a completely serious one.

Mark put his arm around Kyle and pulled him close, but not in the same carefree way that Kenny had done to Butters. It was slow and deliberate; a message. "I didn't do anything that Kyle didn't want. Right, Kyle?"

Kyle nodded and allowed himself to be pressed against Mark's side, but he avoided Kenny's eyes.

"Uh huh, okay," Kenny said. "Whatever you say, dude."

"Kenny, you're being kind of mean right now, aren't you?" Butters asked, watching everyone with wide eyes.

"No, babe, I'm just saying the things that need to be said," Kenny said, kissing the top of his head. "Kyle, you're just going to have to wait for Stan to come to you, I think. He's too wrapped up in his feelings right now, but if you give him time, I think he'll come to you when he's ready."

"That's what I said," Mark said, looking at Kenny in that cold, closed-off way he had.

"I'm sure you did because you have everything figured out, right?" Kenny asked, grinning, but not in a friendly way.

Kyle could feel Mark's body tense up and his arm tightened a little around his shoulders. However, when Mark spoke, he was calm; deceptively so, it would seem. "I guess I do, don't I? It's not like any of this is hard to put together if you have some basic understanding of human nature." Kyle glanced up and Mark was smiling, the light from the bonfire caught in his eyes, making them gleam.

"Kenny, I'm kind of thirsty. Did you bring any of those hard seltzer things I like?" Butters asked, looking up at Kenny. He was clearly uncomfortable; his eyes kept darting over to Mark nervously.

"Yeah, sure. Let's go get you one," Kenny answered, still staring at Mark. "I'll talk to you later, okay Kyle?"

"Yeah, call me tomorrow," Kyle said.

"Right. Later, Mark," Kenny said, leading Butters away. Butters looked back once and caught Kyle's eyes, his face puzzled but sympathetic.

"That guy is such a prick," Mark said, still holding Kyle tightly. "I don't know how you can even stand him."

"Kenny is always going to say exactly what's on his mind," Kyle replied. "Just like you."

"I'd like to think I have more tact than that."

"Well, you don't."

Mark laughed a little. "Just so you know I don't have an issue dragging you behind the trees over there and fucking you again." He squeezed Kyle a little harder to emphasize his point.

"You wouldn't."

"Try me." Mark looked around and groaned. "Jesus, would you look at those two?"

Kyle followed his eyes and saw Rebecca and Kevin wrapped in each other's arms, dancing to a slow song close to the fire. "You know, I wouldn't be surprised if Kevin took her to the dance next month," he said. Kyle thought it was nice how content Kevin looked, holding Rebecca close as they swayed next to the bonfire burning into the sky. He just wished Mark could let things go, but that just wasn't his personality when it came to certain things; he was like a dog worrying an old bone.

"I don't want to talk about that stupid dance," Mark said. "Becky's always over at Wendy's house with the dance committee or she's on the phone talking about it. Not to mention all those stupid posters plastered all over school. I can't wait for that bullshit to be done with."

"And here I thought you were going to ask me to go," Kyle teased.

"Do you want to go?" Mark asked, looking down at him with his eyebrows raised. "I mean, I'm seriously not a dance person but if you wanted to go, I'd try to put up with it for you."

Kyle smiled and looked down at the ground. Mark was such a riddle to him. Sometimes he was so cold and cruel and other times he could be so thoughtful. Kyle couldn't figure him out at all. "It might be fun to go together," he said, hugging Mark. "It'd be like a real date or something."

"You're not going to ask me to buy you a corsage or something, are you?"

"I think I'll pass on that, but I'm going to keep thinking about maybe going together. I didn't even consider it because I didn't think you'd be interested."

"Well, I'm not, but I can be flexible sometimes, regardless of what you think." He unwound his arm from Kyle's shoulders. "I'm going to go take a leak and then get another beer, okay? Can we go soon? I'm getting tired of being social."

"Sure. What'd you want to do after this?"

"I think you know what I want to do," Mark said, smirking.

"Jesus, Mark. Are you a nympho or something?"

Mark just rolled his eyes and walked away toward the forest, his hands jammed in his pockets. Kyle watched him go and smiled, but he was disturbed too. Mark was very good at alienating people, and it bothered Kyle that he couldn't seem to get along with any of his friends; even Kenny, who was cool with pretty much everyone. He could only hope that Mark would thaw out in time, but he really wasn't sure.

Suddenly, through the crowd, Kyle caught sight of a familiar jacket, and his heart started to thud even before his eyes looked up and saw a face that filled him with wistful longing. Stan was among the crush of people now, dancing and acting like fools, but even with all the movement going on around him, Kyle saw him and only him. Kyle's heart was frenzied even though he'd seen Stan plenty of times that week, but what was different about this moment was the fact that Stan was actually looking him in the face; capturing his eyes.

Kyle stayed rooted to the spot as Stan walked toward him, and he tried to catch his breath; his rapid heartbeat making him feel faint. Firelight glowed on Stan's lean face, accentuating his cheekbones and making him look decidedly wolfish. He wasn't wearing his hat, and the flames reflected off his dark hair, reminding Kyle of just how handsome he was, and his mouth went dry. He was vaguely aware that he wanted to kiss Stan's mouth; taste the lips that were awash in the orange glow of the fire.

As he got closer, Kyle was suddenly struck with sadness at the sight of Stan's mouth, at the bruises that were still there but quickly healing. He still couldn't believe he'd hit him, and more than ever he wanted to kiss that face to apologize for what he'd done.

"Hey," Stan said, stopping a few feet from Kyle. He wasn't meeting Kyle's eyes, not directly, and his blue eyes skipped around; not being able to settle.

"Hi," Kyle said, softly. He fought down the impulse to run up to Stan and hug him. "I didn't know you were going to be here."

Stan shrugged. "I wasn't going to come until Kenny texted me and told me you were here." He looked around. "Where is he?" The way Stan's eyes narrowed he could tell that he wasn't asking about Kenny.

"Oh, Mark's getting a drink," Kyle said, awkwardly.

"Is that so? Kenny said you really wanted to talk to me."

"Stan, I've been trying to talk to you all week. I find it hard to believe that Kenny could just text you and all of a sudden you're willing to play nice." Kyle crossed his arms, confused.

"Fine, I wanted to talk to you too. I mean, Kenny did text me, but that just kind of gave me the push I needed to actually get over myself and come out here to see you."

A feeling of happiness welled up inside of Kyle. "Really? You wanted to talk to me? Even after I punched you?"

Stan rubbed his face. "Yeah. Nice right hook, by the way. I didn't think you had it in you."

"Neither did I."

"Dude, I can get over you hitting me. Honestly, I had it coming, what I said was seriously out of line, but," he cleared his throat, "I can't get over the fact that you and Mark had sex quite that easily."

Kyle blushed. "I can't say that I blame you," he said, softly. "I didn't tell you because I wanted to hurt you, I just wanted to be honest with you."

"I know," Stan sighed. "But it hurt anyway. I'm not trying to be all macho and weird or whatever, but I seriously always thought that we, well, that we'd..." he trailed off and shoved his hands in his pockets. He kicked at the snow on the ground with one grubby sneaker.

"So did I," Kyle replied. "Stan, I always thought that too."

They both looked down at the ground for a moment, the sounds of the party going on around them and just becoming one big blur of noise and confusion. Kyle's heartbeat was slowing down a little now, and even though he was overjoyed that Stan was talking to him, he still couldn't fight back the sadness that they even needed to have this conversation.

"I still don't understand, Kyle. I really don't. Just, why? Why him?" Stan finally asked, and Kyle could've cried at the sorrow in his voice.

Kyle could only shrug helplessly as he looked into Stan's face, their eyes finally meeting directly for the first time in a week. Stan's were naked and devoid of pretense; they implored openly for an answer to the question he'd already asked. Why? "I don't know," Kyle said because it was the only answer he could give. He just didn't know.

"How does that quote go? By Pascal? The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of? Is that it?" Mark asked, seemingly appearing out of nowhere and holding a beer. Draping his arm across Kyle's shoulders, he looked at Stan and smiled. "Hey, man. Great party, huh? They have beer over there." He held up his beer bottle and took a long drink.

Stan stared at him with seething dislike, no, hatred, burning on his face, his eyes glancing at the arm Mark had placed around Kyle with a cruel simplicity. Kyle saw him take a deep breath before he spoke.

"Kyle and I were talking. Can't you just give us a minute here?" His voice was tight, controlled, but the anger was there nonetheless.

"Oh, were you? Gosh, I'm sorry; I didn't mean to interrupt. Kyle, did you need to talk to Stan alone for a while? I don't mind giving you two some privacy." Mark's hand came to rest on Kyle's arm and he squeezed it lightly. It was a warning but Kyle brazenly decided to ignore it.

"Yeah, actually. If you'd give us a second I'd appreciate it. Is that okay?" He asked, his heart starting to pound again.

Mark's face broke into the same "smile" he'd had in the bathroom before fucking Kyle up against the wall, and he nodded his head. "Sure, of course. Just let me know when you're done. It was nice seeing you again, Stan." He hugged Kyle a little and walked away, but Kyle was already full of dread.

"Kyle, that guy is scary. You have to see that," Stan said, watching Mark's retreating back.

"Scary? Stan, that's a little melodramatic, don't you think?" Kyle asked, even though he knew there was a thread of truth in what Stan said.

"I mean it. Do you know what he said to Craig and Tweek at Harbucks? Did he tell you?"

"Yeah, he told them to mind their own business," Kyle replied, shrugging. "Which is fair. They were being so fucking nosy."

"No, Kyle, he didn't just tell them to mind their own business, okay? He told them he was going to fucking slit their throats if they kept messing with you. Point blank."

"I'm sure he was just kidding. People say off the wall shit like that all the time," Kyle replied, uneasily. Against his will, he remembered the looks on Craig and Tweek's faces that day; their expressions of shock. Now they made a little more sense in retrospect. Especially Craig's, mostly because nothing ever ruffled him enough to show actual emotion, as a general rule.

"They didn't think he was kidding," Stan argued. "He was serious, dude. I know he was." He rubbed his hands through his hair in frustration. "Kyle, he's dangerous. What do I have to say to convince you of that?"

Kyle was still formulating an answer when police sirens cut across the music and the revelry, causing chaos and confusion to break out. People were running in every direction, grabbing drinks and disappearing into the woods; some even running across the frozen pond in a blind panic as red and blue lights flashed through the trees. Kyle caught Stan's eyes for a moment before Mark was there, grabbing Kyle's arm and pulling him toward the path around the pond that would lead them back to his house.

"Wait, I need to talk to Stan!" Kyle yelled out as he was being yanked away, but Mark was still holding his arm and leading him away; running now. The sirens seemed to be coming from every side, assaulting them along with those whirling lights that shredded the firelight and the darkness of the night at the same time.

"Are you fucking crazy? If we stay here we'll get arrested!" Mark shouted as they continued to run. Kyle tried to loosen Mark's hand on his arm but he hung on; his grip like iron.

Helplessly, Kyle gave in and allowed Mark to pull him away from the party. Away from the flashing lights, the crowd, the fire, from Stan; away toward his house that loomed in the darkness, waiting anxiously to receive them.

*****

Later that night, as they were preparing for bed, Kyle thought back to Stan's face and remembered how his eyes glowed in the firelight; about how he wanted to kiss his mouth and soothe the bruises that he'd put there. He was in the bathroom gazing at his reflection when the thought came to him, and he was overcome with sadness. Being apart from Stan for a week had been agony, and now more than ever he wanted to see him and make sure things were going to be okay.

Mark strolled into the bathroom and walked up behind Kyle, settling his arms around his stomach. He hugged him close as he kissed his shoulder.

"I heard the shower stop a while ago so I was wondering what was taking you so long," Mark said softly as he continued to kiss along Kyle's naked skin. "What's got you so pensive, huh?"

Kyle leaned his hands on the counter as Mark kissed him, and in the mirror, he could see the flush creeping up his neck and into his face. His body was already responding to Mark even though his mind wanted to resist.

"I finally got to talk to Stan again and those stupid cops had to show up," he said. "What bullshit timing."

"You were at a huge party with a bonfire and a bunch of alcohol," Mark replied, holding Kyle tighter now. "Oh, and incredibly loud music. What did you think was going to happen?"

"Still, he actually came to see me. He wanted to talk to me," Kyle said, gasping now as Mark licked along his neck and bit his throat; his white teeth flashing in the soft glow of the bathroom.

"Yeah, that's great," Mark said, indifferently. He nipped at Kyle's skin again and smiled when Kyle moaned.

"Aren't you happy for me, though? I mean, I know you don't like Stan, but-"

"God, can we please not talk about him anymore?" Mark yelled, turning Kyle to face him. He locked his hands around Kyle's wrists and yanked him against his chest, making Kyle cry out. "Do you really think I want to hear about Stan right now?" He asked, shaking Kyle.

Kyle looked at him, wide-eyed. "I'm sorry, Mark, I just thought-"

"You thought what?" Mark shouted, cutting him off again. "What, did you think I was going to be thrilled seeing you practically falling into Stan's arms tonight after you shooed me away? Telling me to give you a second?" He asked, mimicking Kyle's choice of words and how he spoke, making Kyle look away in shame. "I was nice and gave you space, so why can't we fucking drop Stan already?"

Kyle was quiet for a moment as he stared at the carpet, afraid to say anything that would make Mark angrier. "I wasn't falling into his arms, Mark. I was just talking to him because I missed him," he finally whispered.

"Yeah, I bet you missed him," Mark said, quietly. He was still holding Kyle's wrists but his grip wasn't so hard now. He drew Kyle toward him and kissed his lips softly. "But you're mine now, Kyle. Can't you think about me as much as you think about Stan?" He kissed him again, deeper.

Kyle gladly opened his mouth as Mark's tongue slid inside and he sighed. "I do think about you," he said, leaning back against the counter as Mark pressed his hips against his. "All the time."

"Oh? Do you think about me doing this?" Mark asked as he turned Kyle back to face the mirror, a dark smile on his lips. He spread Kyle's legs with his knee and licked his hand, wetting the fingers that he plunged inside of Kyle, making him gasp. Kyle closed his eyes, overcome by pleasure, but Mark slid his hand under his chin and lifted his face. "Open your eyes," he said, softly. "I want you to watch as I fuck you."

Kyle opened his eyes and watched Mark's reflection as he entered him, his cock pushing into him with an intensity that took his breath away. He held Kyle's hips as he thrust into him, and Kyle steadied himself on the counter, moaning and pushing back against him.

"Are you thinking about Stan now?" Mark asked, grunting as he pumped into Kyle; his hands splayed on Kyle's bruise-covered skin.

Kyle could only shake his head, overcome as he watched Mark fuck him from behind. He was surprised to see how small he looked, so delicate, as Mark drove into him; owning him. Kyle decided that he liked the way Mark's hands looked on his hips, and he pushed back harder against him.

This was enough to send Mark over the edge, and he was coming inside Kyle; the heat filling him up and making him sigh again. How could he be so full, so warm? Mark knew exactly what to do to make Kyle succumb, and it was like his body didn't belong to him anymore so long as Mark's hands were on him.

Mark slid out of Kyle and kissed his neck, and Kyle decided this was probably his signature because every time they fucked this way he always left the same little feathery kiss on his skin there. Shivering, he looked at Mark in the mirror again, and Kyle's eyes were forest green in the golden bathroom light.

"My eyes are your favorite color," he said, smiling.

Mark just smiled back, wrapping his arms tightly around Kyle's waist and pulling him against him. They stayed that way for a while, Mark hugging Kyle close and Kyle studying his own face in the mirror; his green eyes filled with an all-consuming desire.


	16. Chapter 16

Kyle felt so warm.

He felt so warm and he felt so complete; so whole. It was like he was being consumed completely, enclosed inside of a safe place that no one could invade, but on the same token, there was no way to escape.

Kyle looked around and he was locked in the darkness that insulated him from the world, but also kept him prisoner from ever finding the light, and he found that he was afraid. He fought against the walls that were keeping him in until he was exhausted, his hands bloody and shredded until they were useless.

Somehow, he lifted them to touch his throat, and he felt the leather there, the dark collar that circled his neck and he tried to tear it off. His fingers tore at the scrap of hide and he could feel his fingernails being torn from their roots but still he fought. He fought until he was crying and out of breath, and he looked upward; a single pinprick of light shone in the dome of the universe surrounding him and he concentrated on it until it consumed his mind. It became the sun as the night choked him, and when he had to admit that it was out of reach he fell to his knees and sobbed.

How long would he have to wander in darkness until the light accepted him again? Would it ever?

*****

Kyle broke from a sound sleep with a start, gasping as his eyes filled up with sunlight that dazzled him and made him cringe. Lifting his hands from beneath the covers, he studied them to make sure that his fingernails were still there, intact, and not torn off so bloody roots were left and weeping. After he realized that'd he woken up from a bad dream, he shifted because he was too warm and he needed to catch his breath.

He wasn't able to go very far because Mark's arm was wound tight around him, holding him close even as he continued to sleep. Kyle looked at Mark's sleeping face and saw how different it was from when he was awake; the tension was gone and so was the anger. All that was left was a boyish tranquility, a sweetness that Kyle rarely got to see when Mark was awake. Kyle leaned over and kissed this face, hoping he could see more of it even after Mark woke up.

Kyle tried to remain still because he didn't want to disrupt Mark's rest, but he had started to perspire in his sleep; the dreams waking him up covered in sweat. The moisture soaked into the bedclothes and Kyle hated the sensation of not being clean, so he squirmed, wanting to be free so he could go into the bathroom and bathe. He reached up and touched the collar that Mark had slipped on his neck the night before, and he flushed, remembering.

\--------------

He'd thought that Mark would be satisfied after they had sex in front of the mirror, but after they'd broken apart and cleaned up, Mark had pulled the collar from out of a drawer and brought it to Kyle.

"Hold still while I put this on you."

Kyle had stared at the strip of leather in Mark's hands and frowned. Looking up at Mark, he'd asked why he was putting it on him.

"Because I want you to wear it, Kyle. Why else?"

"But we already had sex."

"So?"

"So, I don't know what you want from me right now."

"I want you to stop arguing and put the fucking collar on."

Kyle had sat silently as Mark put the collar around his neck, responding in much the same way as a cat would in the same situation. After it was fastened and tightened in place, he looked at Mark and scowled.

"Are you happy now?"

Mark stroked the leather of the collar and smiled. "I'd be happier if you'd watch your smart mouth."

"I'm seriously trying to, but you put me in so many bizarre situations that I can't help it," Kyle said, laying back on the bed, completely naked except for the collar.

"I don't know. Sometimes I think you say things just to bait me," Mark said, stretching out alongside him. He reached out a hand and dragged it along Kyle's stomach.

"What, you think I'm trying to get you to manhandle me?" Kyle scoffed, turning away and sliding to the other side of the huge bed so Mark couldn't touch him anymore. "Mark, you're seriously insane if you think that."

"See? There you go again. You've been goading me all day." Mark sat up and raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing, anyway? Get your ass over here."

"No, I don't have to. I'm wearing the collar like you wanted but that doesn't mean I have to just lay back and let you paw at me." Kyle moved even further away, practically on the edge of the bed now. "No means no, Mark." He stuck out his tongue.

Mark's eyes narrowed. "Are you telling me no, Kyle? Be serious. Are you?"

"What if I am?" Kyle lay back and stretched out his arms above his head. The warm lighting of Mark's bedroom shone softly on his pale, bruise-dappled skin. He was starting to think that he'd never be bruise-free again; not so long as Mark was around. He twisted his body just so, cracking his back and sighing contentedly; aware all the while that Mark was watching him. Rolling over onto his stomach he laid his head on his folded arms and bent his legs, kicking them back and forth; he glanced over at Mark and smiled cheekily.

Mark stared at him, his face inscrutable. Kyle decided to have some fun with him, mainly because Mark was always so serious and brooding.

"You know, now that I think of it, I do want to cuddle," he said, pushing himself onto his hands and knees and crawling over to Mark, who had sat up and was leaning against the pillows. He kissed Mark's lips lightly and wrapped his arms around his neck, pressing his body against Mark's. Slowly, Mark placed his hands on Kyle's hips, a questioning look on his face.

"You're acting weird," he said.

"No, I'm not. I'm just trying to get close to you," Kyle pouted. "Also, I was wondering, why do you get to wear clothes to bed and I don't?"

"Because I prefer you naked, Kyle. You know that," Mark replied, raising an eyebrow.

Kyle slipped a hand under Mark's shirt playfully and stroked his chest. "It just doesn't seem fair, is all."

Mark pushed his hand away, clearly starting to get annoyed. "Life isn't fair. Why are you acting this way?"

"What way?" Kyle reached out and tickled the top of Mark's foot, making it twitch.

Mark snatched his foot away. "Stop that, you know I hate being tickled."

"Is that so?" He slowly moved his hand toward Mark's foot again.

"Kyle," Mark said, a note of warning in his voice.

Kyle's hand kept creeping closer to Mark's foot, and he laughed when his impassive face showed the beginnings of irritation. "Oh, finally, a reaction!"

"Is that what you're trying to achieve here? A reaction from me?" Mark asked. "You know, you're always getting on my ass for being manipulative and now you're pulling this crap? You're being pretty hypocritical right now."

"Do I sense some anger, Mark?" Kyle asked, tickling Mark's foot again.

Mark pulled his foot away and stood up, staring down at Kyle with his jaw set. "Why are you acting this way? You're being fucking annoying."

"Oh, if I'm so annoying then I'll just take my collar off then. Clearly, you aren't interested in playing right now," Kyle replied, haughtily. He reached up to pull on the collar's buckle.

"Leave it on," Mark said, softly. His tone wasn't irritable now; it was coldly serious.

Kyle paused for a moment, noticing the change, but decided he wanted to continue with what was quickly becoming a social experiment. At first he had just wanted to mess with Mark, but now he kind of wanted to see what happened when he deliberately crossed him. Sure, he had balked in the past or been timid when Mark wanted him to do something, but he'd never completely disobeyed him. He continued to fiddle with his collar, purposely not unbuckling it but getting very close.

"I'm going to give you one last chance to listen, Kyle," Mark said, watching him. "I'll tell you this right now, though. If you continue with what you're doing, even though I'm giving you a chance to stop, I'll take that as a signal that you want me to punish you. And if I end up having to punish you, I won't stop until I'm satisfied; unless you use the safe word. Do you remember what it is?"

"Hmm, let me think," Kyle said, pretending to think about it while pulling on his collar idly. "Oh, yes, that's it. Red, it's red, right?"

"Very good," Mark replied. "So, what's your decision, Kyle? Are you going to continue fucking around or are you actually going to listen to me?"

Kyle pretended to think about that question, too. It was amazing the change that came over Mark whenever Kyle pushed back at all. He couldn't seem to handle any kind of disobedience, but his standards were strange. Kyle made little verbal jabs at him all the time and Mark complained about those, but the way Mark was responding to Kyle taking off the collar was very enlightening.

 _It must hold some special significance for him_ , Kyle thought.

He also had to admit that the idea of being punished by Mark was a huge turn-on. Kyle looked into Mark's eyes and smiled, admiring the way he looked in his glasses with his dark hair carelessly falling over his forehead. He glanced at Mark's elegant hands that would wind themselves in Kyle's curls as Mark kissed his mouth, but those hands were also capable of holding Kyle down as Mark fucked him mercilessly. Deep, instinctual desire flared inside of Kyle, and he yanked on the collar, causing it to fall into his lap. He glanced at the collar and then at Mark, waiting.

"Well, I guess you've made your decision," Mark said, his face expressionless. "I don't know what the hell has gotten into you tonight, but we'll figure it out together, won't we?"

Kyle continued to look at Mark silently.

"Oh, now you have nothing to say? How convenient." Mark reached out and plucked up the collar, considering it for a moment. "It's actually interesting that you're acting this way now, Kyle. I put this on you because I wanted to get a little rough before we went to bed, but now you're just giving me more opportunity to get some aggression out of my system."

"Why are you feeling aggressive?" Kyle asked, moving out of Mark's reach toward the opposite end of the bed.

"Nah, we aren't playing twenty questions right now," Mark said. He went to his desk and opened a drawer. A metallic sound could be heard as he rustled through its contents.

Mark's back was to Kyle so he couldn't see what he grabbed from the drawer until he turned around; two sets of handcuffs dangled from Mark's fingers. Kyle stared at them, pushing himself backward against the pillows. Vividly he remembered the night he lost his virginity in the very bed he sat on; he'd first been restrained with the cuffs then, and his wrists ached just thinking about it. He didn't mind the pain, if anything, he relished it, but if Mark was planning on cuffing him to the bed, he wasn't sure how he felt about it.

"Look, I don't mind being tied up or whatever, but being locked to the bed is a bit much," Kyle said, still pressing himself against the pillows. Mark was coming toward him, the handcuffs flashing in his hand.

Mark finally managed a smile as he sat on the bed beside Kyle. Reaching out, he caressed Kyle's face softly, but Kyle kept his eyes trained on the cuffs in Mark's other hand.

"After everything we've done, you have an issue with me handcuffing you to my bed? Really?" He asked, stroking Kyle's cheek.

"I mean, when you used rope on me or just cuffed my hands behind my back, I could deal because I could still move, you know? But when I'm locked to the bed..." he trailed off, shrugging.

"Yeah, you're pretty helpless, aren't you?" Mark asked, softly.

Kyle nodded.

"Well, that's exactly why I'm going to do it, Kyle. You're being punished, aren't you? You aren't necessarily going to like everything I do." He flicked open one pair of the handcuffs as he spoke.

"I don't want to do that, Mark."

"I don't really care, Kyle. Maybe you should've thought of that before you decided to cross me." Mark snapped open the other pair of handcuffs.

Kyle tried to move away but the hand that had been softly stroking his face clamped down on his arm, holding him in place. Mark looked into his face and Kyle was starting to think he'd made a mistake, because he'd never seen him look so blank; like he'd stepped out of his body for a moment and he was running purely on carnal instinct.

"You wanted me to punish you, so that's what I'm doing." Mark said, and he dragged Kyle so that he was on his hands and knees facing the pillows. Before Kyle could respond, he'd snapped a handcuff around one of his wrists and attached it to the far end of the headboard, making it so Kyle's arm was fully extended.

"Mark, stop, I don't want this. You can tie me up but don't do this, okay?" He pulled at the handcuff even though he knew it wouldn't make a difference.

"I'm not hearing a safety word, Kyle," Mark said, snapping Kyle's wrist in place at the other end of the headboard, even though he'd tried to resist.

"I shouldn't have to use that if I'm telling you to stop," Kyle said, pulling against the headboard, the metal scraping across the wood. "You should just listen to me." Mark had cuffed him so his arms were as wide open as they could go, which was worse than the last time he'd done this; at least he'd been able to bend his arms then.

"That's not how any of this works, Kyle. We have a safe word for a reason, so use it. Or don't, I mean, that would be my preference." Mark ran his hand down Kyle's back, making him arch in surprise.

"I'm starting to think that I didn't exactly think this through," Kyle said, straining against the handcuffs. Mark had attached them relatively low on the headboard so Kyle's face was resting against the pillows with his knees bent, his ass in the air.

"Oh, really? How unlike you, Kyle." Mark laughed and walked away.

Kyle could hear him looking through another drawer and then Mark reappeared at his side. He was holding something that made Kyle start to perspire, his eyes widening.

"You have a fucking ball gag?" He asked, incredulous.

"Seriously, you don't know what a butt plug is but you recognize a ball gag?" Mark asked, twirling the gag around, one eyebrow raised in disbelief.

"I've seen Pulp Fiction, Mark. I know a ball gag when I see one," Kyle replied, scowling at the black leather with the bright red ball attached; silver rings on the sides caught the overhead light.

"We're actually going to need a safety signal, I guess," Mark smiled. "It doesn't look like you'll be talking for awhile."

Kyle yanked at the handcuffs. "You aren't putting that in my mouth. I refuse," he turned his face away and shut his eyes tightly.

"You refuse? That's hilarious, Kyle. I really don't think you're in a position to refuse anything. Now look at me, I need to make sure you're understanding this."

When Kyle made no attempt to turn his head, Mark reached out and grabbed his hair, pulling Kyle's head back sharply. Kyle gasped and his eyes shot wide open.

"There, that's better. Now, if you need me to stop or you have to get my attention, I want you to knock on the headboard with your fist 3 times, okay? And do it as hard as you can so I'll be able to hear you." Mark illustrated by rapping on the wood, the 3 solid knocks loud in Kyle's ears. "Now do it."

Kyle looked at his right hand, held fast and secure by the handcuff, and balled it into a fist slowly. He knocked it against the headboard 3 times, his arm trembling.

"Good, perfect," Mark smiled. "Doesn't it make you think of that song? You know, the one that goes "knock three times on the ceiling if you want me?"'

"I'm not really thinking about stuff like that right now, Mark."

"Oh, well it's a great song if you ever get a chance to listen to it," Mark said. "So, any questions?"

"Yeah, what the hell are you about to do to me?" Kyle asked, laying his face against the pillow and gently tugging on his restraints again, even though his resolve was starting to dwindle.

Mark smiled but his eyes were empty as he replied:

"Punish you."

******

Kyle was trapped in the dark, even though his eyes were wide open.

Mark's idea of punishment was multi-faceted, and he'd left Kyle in quite a state. Kyle opened his hands to flex his fingers, but his arms were still held fast against the headboard with the handcuffs. The stale flavor of rubber slid over his tongue as he tried to get used to having the ball gag there, cutting off his voice. Mark had placed a blindfold over his eyes, too, and it was thick and effective, plunging everything into darkness.

With his senses compromised, Kyle was very aware of the ragged sound of his breath escaping around the gag in his mouth, and he tried to focus on his breaths so he wouldn't start panicking. He didn't like being in the dark, having never taken to it even as a child. Kyle had grown up sleeping with a nightlight, a habit he had retained into his teenage years, and having the blackness settle around him made him want to scream. Invasive thoughts crept into his brain because he had nothing to focus on other than his breaths, and they could hardly keep him occupied.

Memories of the bonfire filtered back into his brain, and along with the flames came the vision of Stan being bathed in their light, and he could recall how concerned he looked when he tried to warn Kyle about Mark.

_"Kyle, he's dangerous. What do I have to say to convince you of that?"_

Oh, if only Stan could see him now. Before Mark had excused himself, and before he'd wrapped the blindfold around Kyle's eyes, he'd played with his pet; preparing him for the punishment to come.

"Let's take this slow, Kyle. You won't learn a lesson if I rush things, right?" Mark had asked this question while skimming his hand along Kyle's shoulder and down his back, making the flesh quiver there. Mark's hand had come to rest on Kyle's ass, and he squeezed it roughly, making Kyle moan against his gag. Laughing, he gripped his ass cheek again, harder, and then slapped the skin sharply. Kyle moaned again, but it was more from pain than anything else.

"I have to say, it's nice not hearing your smart mouth for awhile," Mark murmured, resting a finger against Kyle before pushing it into him slowly, filling up the same place he'd fucked less than an hour before. Kyle was still sore from having sex earlier and he shut his eyes against the throb that had settled there; accepting it.

Mark slid his finger in and out, taking his time, before slipping a second finger in, slick with moisture. Delving inside of Kyle with an agonizing languidness, he laughed again to hear Kyle gasping against his gag. Thrusting a third finger into Kyle, he slid a hand over his thigh when Kyle pushed back against him.

"Relax, we have all night." He continued to finger fuck Kyle but he was even slower now, drawing a sigh out of Kyle.

Kyle sagged against the pillow and arched his back, raising his ass higher into the air; opening himself up wide and eager. Drool was pooling behind his gag and it had started to leak out of his mouth onto the pillow. Closing his eyes, he surrendered to Mark's fingers, to all of his whims.

In a moment, Mark had stopped and removed his fingers, leaving Kyle wanting and moaning against his gag. Looking over his shoulder, Kyle could see that Mark was watching him and smiling, but his eyes were still blank and gone; twin wastelands.

"I want to try something different, if I may," Mark said. Reaching out, he took a hold of Kyle's ass with both hands and spread him as wide as he could go; squeezing his skin like Kyle was a piece of fruit and he was testing to see how ripe he was. Kyle watched with wide eyes as Mark leaned down, and he started shaking his head when he saw what Mark was about to do.

"Oh, this is happening, Kyle," he said, his pink tongue snaking out of his mouth.

Kyle started fighting against his restraints while sitting back, closing off Mark's access to his ass. He shook his head fiercely at Mark, who just laughed and laughed. Hooking his hands under Kyle's hips, Mark pulled him back into position easily, even as Kyle fought, and he smacked him hard on the hip, bringing Kyle to attention.

"Stop moving. Now."

Kyle closed his eyes and hid his face in the pillow, ashamed, as he felt Mark opening him up again, and this time, when Mark's tongue entered him, it took everything in Kyle not to fight. Mark gripped his ass, kneading the flesh there, as his tongue invaded Kyle and licked him until he was sopping wet; saliva dripping down the backs of his thighs. Kyle groaned deep in his throat despite himself, but he still felt humiliated at what Mark was doing. It was one thing to have his fingers there, but his tongue was almost too much to bear.

Mark continued to eat Kyle out with deliberate care, his hands pressing into Kyle's warm skin with such intensity that he knew there would be bruises there in the morning to match the ones on his hips. Reaching around, Mark started rubbing Kyle's cock, bringing him to a fever pitch multiple times before stopping, leaving him to tremble and shake from being so close. Drool was saturating Kyle's pillow now, and if he had the capability he would've begged Mark to let him come.

Finally, he felt Mark pulling away and another sharp smack landed on his ass, making him grunt and try to hide himself. Mark pulled him back into position and slapped him again, but harder.

"Stop trying to cover yourself, Kyle. I mean it." Mark slapped him twice more to drive the point home, and Kyle's skin felt like it was on fire. "I think I need a break, actually," he said, suddenly.

Kyle found the strength to look over his shoulder when he felt the bed move. Mark was walking out of his line of sight, and he almost became frantic at the idea that he was being abandoned. Within a moment, Mark walked back into view, and he was carrying a piece of fabric and a long black object Kyle couldn't name. Gently, Mark wrapped the fabric around Kyle's eyes, dropping him into a world of darkness, but then he was inserting something inside of Kyle that made him gasp soundlessly.

"This will keep you occupied while I step outside to smoke," Mark said, a smile clear in his voice. Slowly, he slid the object into Kyle until it was so deep Kyle could barely stand it. In a perverse way he suddenly became glad that Mark had eaten him out so thoroughly; his opening was slick and ready that the object entered him easily, even though it stretched him wider than ever before. Kyle was almost getting used to the sensation when Mark pushed a button, and the object started to pulsate inside of him, sending shock waves coursing through his body.

Kyle moaned louder than ever now, and it could be heard even with the gag in place. Straining against the handcuffs, he lay his head into the pillow more deeply, drawing his ass into the air and spreading his legs. He was nearly coming undone from the sensation pulsing inside of him and he almost started to cry.

"There, there," Mark soothed, smoothing a hand along Kyle's hip. "It'll be okay." Kyle felt him lay a kiss at the top of his buttock, the gesture surprisingly gentle.

"I'll be back in a moment, Kyle. This will give you some time to think about why you're being punished. Remember, knock 3 times if you need me. I'll be right outside on the balcony so I won't be far.

 

******

Kyle lost track of time as he waited in the darkness, with the ball gag slick with saliva in his mouth and the vibrator buzzing inside of him. His head lolled on the pillow as he faded in and out of reality. His body was exhausted and trembling, ready to collapse and fall into a deep sleep, but Kyle was held fast to the headboard, and his arms were on fire from being in the same position for so long. Thoughts of Stan and Mark flitted through his sex-fatigued brain, and on their heels were thoughts of fire and ice and blood; of semen sliding down the backs of his legs. Though he wasn't coherent enough to be aware of it, he whimpered behind his gag.

He was to the point where he thought he'd be wandering in darkness and pain forever when Mark reappeared, smelling of the cold outside and smoke. When he kissed his cheek, Kyle could smell whiskey on his breath too.

"How do you like being punished?" Mark asked, softly. He ran his fingers through Kyle's sweat-tinged hair gently. "Is it everything you wanted it to be?"

Kyle couldn't respond. All he could do was turn his face away to rest his hot cheek against a cooler part of the pillow.

"I think I'd like to get a picture of you like this, Kyle. You seriously look fucking hot right now," Mark said, brightly. "Let me grab my phone."

Weakly, Kyle lifted his head to shake it, but he was too tired to do it as emphatically as he would've liked.

"That's perfect, keep your face just like that. I want to get a clear shot of the ball gag." After a moment, Kyle heard the click of Mark's phone and he yanked on his handcuffs with the last ounce of fight he had left.

"Hey, I'll check your phone too, okay? Maybe someone texted you or something."

Kyle could feel tears starting to build behind his eyes at being so helpless.

"Stan texted you, by the way. He wants to know if you can hang out with him tomorrow. He wants to talk to you some more. What do you want me to say?" Mark paused. "Hey! Should I send him that picture of you? You look really good in it, I'm sure Stan would love to see it."

A sob escaped Kyle's throat when Mark said that, and the tears started to fall.

"I'm just kidding, Kyle. I wouldn't do that to you; even I'm not that big of a dick. I am going to tell Stan that you won't be available tomorrow, okay? Remember, you said we'd hang out all day on Saturday. I'll tell him you'll be free on Sunday. How's that sound?"

Kyle nodded his head weakly, still crying.

"Okay, that's taken care of," Mark said, cheerfully. "Now where were we? Oh, right, we need to see to this."

Suddenly, Kyle could feel the vibrator being pulled out of him slowly. When it was gone, he collapsed onto the bed, his body laying flat and exhausted.

"We really need to work on your stamina, Kyle. This isn't nearly as bad as it can get," Mark said, spreading Kyle's legs wide against the bed. Kyle could hear Mark unzipping his pants and the rustling of fabric, and then he was being mounted, Mark's cock thrusting into his aching orifice. Kyle lifted his head and shoulders off of the pillow in shock.

Mark was straddling Kyle's ass as he drove into him, his hands gripping Kyle's waist with his usual aggression. Over and over he thrust into Kyle who sobbed and drooled behind his ball gag, waiting for it all to be over with. Every part of Kyle's body ached with fatigue and overuse, but Mark seemed to have a tirelessness that was almost inhuman.

"God, even with that vibrator inside of you for so long you're still so tight," Mark gasped between thrusts, pushing into Kyle with an animal viciousness. Finally, with one last violent movement, Kyle could hear Mark grunting as his come flooded inside of him, and at last he knew it was all over. All of the tension in his body started to dissipate slightly, even as Mark continued to rock inside of him, his come overflowing and moistening Kyle's already sweaty skin.

Mark eased himself out of Kyle and dropped his usual light kiss on Kyle's neck. Reaching up, he undid one handcuff and then the other, sliding his fingers along Kyle's aching arms. Kyle blinked against the harshness of the light in the room when Mark removed his blindfold, and he gasped when Mark finally removed the ball gag. Mark helped Kyle roll onto his back and he held him close, soothing him with little kisses on his cheeks and forehead.

"Are you okay?" He asked, gathering Kyle in his arms and pressing him close enough so Kyle could hear his heartbeat.

Kyle could only nod but he still felt so dazed. He reached up and took a hold of Mark's shirt, trying to steady himself.

"I'm thirsty," he managed to say, his voice raspy.

Mark reached over and grabbed a bottle of water from the nightstand. "Here," he said, twisting the cap off and holding it to Kyle's lips. Greedily, Kyle drank until his dry throat was satisfied.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Mark asked, running a finger over Kyle's swollen lips.

"It wasn't how I thought it was going to be," Kyle said, his voice low.

"How so?"

"You were different, Mark. You didn't seem like yourself." Kyle looked away. "It was like you were a stranger."

"That's how I have to be when I'm punishing you, Kyle." Mark kissed the corner of Kyle's mouth. "You wanted that, didn't you? To be punished?"

"I guess I did, but I still didn't think it would be like that."

Mark was quiet for a moment, thinking. "Why did you push me like that? You must have realized that I don't play around when it comes to you disobeying me. Kyle, you were trying to make me angry. Why?"

"At first I just wanted to mess with you, but then I wanted to see how far you're willing to go, Mark. I needed to know if you're all talk or if you really mean the things you say."

"And what did you learn?"

"You're not just talk, that's for sure," Kyle conceded.

Mark sighed. "I don't know why you'd need to question that, Kyle. I've been pretty up front about who I am. I can be a terrible person, I fully admit that, but I'm not going to try and cover up what I'm about. If I need to bring you in line, I will. It's how I was taught, and it's what I understand."

"What do you mean?"

"I've been at someone's mercy too, Kyle, and I hated it; absolutely hated it. But as much as I detested being trained to obey, it taught me about what I wanted. I decided a long time ago that I would always be in control of my own life, and anyone that I was close to would be controlled or they wouldn't have a place in my life." Mark touched Kyle's lip and smiled. "That's why I'm so glad I met you. You're naturally submissive. You like to obey. Have you realized that yet?"

Kyle nodded. "I think so, but I'm finding it hard to believe you were ever in a position where you had to obey anyone."

"It was temporary, believe me. The person who took care of me, so to speak, was far more sadistic than I am, so consider yourself lucky." He hugged Kyle close and kissed his neck.

"Mark?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you love anyone?"

Mark froze at this question. He turned his head slowly to meet Kyle's eyes. "Yes, Kyle," he replied, slowly; suspiciously. "I told you before I love someone."

"Why aren't you with them anymore?"

"Who says I'm not?"

Kyle's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

"I'm still with this person on occasion, Kyle. I never told you I wasn't. I just told you things probably wouldn't end well with them, and they will end; trust me."

Kyle sat up, wincing from the aches in his muscles. "You didn't tell me that. You made it seem like you still cared about this person but you never saw them."

"I see them once in a blue moon. What's the big deal?"

"But you have sex with them?"

"Yes, on occasion."

Kyle turned away, hugging himself. "When was the last time?"

"A few weeks ago. Kyle, I told them about us; that's why I haven't seen them in awhile. They're starting to understand what you mean to me." Mark reached out and told hold of Kyle's shoulder, but Kyle shook him off.

"What do I mean to you, Mark? I'm just someone you can push around and fuck and bully when the mood strikes you. I'm basically new to all of this and you took advantage of that. And now you're telling me that you've been fucking someone else while you came between me and Stan, and..." he gripped his face with his hands. "And what about Becky, huh? You tried to keep her completely isolated while you were fucking me and god knows who else. You don't own us, Mark. We don't belong to you!"

Kyle stood up and staggered across the room, crying now though he couldn't have said why. He hid his face in his hands and he sobbed, his whole body aching and on the verge of collapsing completely. Mark's warm hands came to rest on his naked hips and he jerked away, but they stayed tight on his skin, pulling him close.

"Kyle what is this all about? Why did you want me to punish you, why are you asking me about other people I've been with? You're not making any sense."

"I don't know, I just-" Kyle continued to sob, and he lay his head against Mark's shoulder. Thoughts of Stan's sweet, sad blue eyes came to him, and he gripped Mark's shirt in his fists. "I think I might be falling in love with you, Mark, but you're so cruel. I know you don't love me back, but I feel so confused." He cried into Mark's shoulder until his shirt was soaked.

Mark became still at these words, and he still held Kyle, but he wasn't as responsive. Kyle continued to sob, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.

"Did you want me to hurt you to prove that I love you, Kyle?" Mark asked. "Because if that's your line of reasoning I'm seriously not following you."

Kyle pressed his naked body against Mark and just cried, his slight shoulders raising with every sob. "I'm so confused, Mark. I saw Stan at the bonfire and he wanted to make up, and he looked so sad and he told me you were dangerous and-"

"I am dangerous, Kyle, but so is Stan," Mark interrupted.

"What?"

"Stan may love you but does he want to help you grow? As a person?"

"I don't know, I never thought about it before."

"He's limited, Kyle, and you're not. You could do whatever you wanted, be whoever you wanted. Stan will just hold you back. He's got a small town view of the world."

Kyle gazed at Mark with his tear-bruised eyes. "Could you ever love me, Mark?"

"Who says I don't?"

"Do you?"

"Kyle, don't put me in this position. I'm not ready to talk about any of this, please."

"You never want to talk about anything with me. You just want to have sex and boss me around. Well, I've got news for you, Mark. I'm not going to fight you, and if you want me to obey you, I will. But you have to know that I'm starting to have feelings for you that are going beyond just us fucking, okay? So if that doesn't coincide with what you want, you need to tell me."

Mark wrapped his arms around Kyle and pulled him tight, crushing him to his chest. "I'm seriously damaged, okay? Please let me sort through all of this at a pace that I can understand. I want to love you in the way that you're asking me to, but I'm not there yet. I need time, and I need you to trust me when I say that I'm going to try. Is that enough for now?"

Kyle hugged him close and sighed. "What about this other person that you love? What's going to happen to them?"

"I don't know. I've been with them for a very long time, Kyle. I can't just pull away from them overnight because it would be the same as having a piece of my heart cut out. I have to explain everything to them, but I don't know if they'll understand."

Kyle was quiet for awhile, holding onto Mark and becoming intoxicated by the scent that clung to his clothes; winter, smoke, sex, and whiskey. He was almost starting to feel drunk on this aroma. "Mark?" He finally asked in a whisper.

"Hmm?"

"I just want to go to bed with you and fall asleep in your arms. Can we do that?"

"Yes, but I do have a favor to ask."

Kyle looked at him, his eyes questioning.

"Put on the collar, okay? I like seeing it on you...it reminds me that I've had you, and that for a moment you've belonged to me."

"I do belong to you."

Obediently, Kyle allowed Mark to slip the collar around his neck, this time without any protest. As they lay in each other's arms that night, as Kyle started sliding into the velvety confines of a deep repose, his fingers brushed over the collar and he sighed; hating what it represented but knowing that he was a prisoner to it all the same.


	17. Chapter 17

**I can see inside you, the sickness is rising**  
**Don't try to deny what you feel**  
**(Will you give in to me?)**  
**It seems that all that was good has died**  
**And is decaying in me**  
**(Will you give in to me?)**  
**It seems you're having some trouble**  
**In dealing with these changes**  
**Living with these changes (oh no)**  
**The world is a scary place**  
**Now that you've woken up the demon in me**

**-Down with the Sickness, Disturbed**

 

********

 

Kyle lay in a pool of sweat for what felt like forever before Mark finally turned over on his side, letting go of him so he could slide out of bed and make his way to the bathroom. When Kyle stood he felt woozy, but he attributed it to not sleeping very well, and he ignored it. In the bathroom he looked in the mirror, but he had to lean against the counter so he wouldn't fall.

Something was wrong, but Kyle didn't want to admit it. His back was throbbing and he felt warm, but he also had moments where he felt so cold he thought he had been thrown outside in the snow. He urinated, but when it came out it burned like fire as he voided it into the toilet. Weakness overcame him as he turned on the shower, so he slid along the bathroom wall where he sat on the floor, fading in and out as the steam from the hot water surrounded him.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed before Mark found him hunched against the wall, curled into a little ball and moaning in pain.

"Kyle, the shower has been running for at least half an hour; have you been on the floor the whole time? What's wrong?" Mark asked, standing there in his pajamas pants and no shirt, his hair disheveled. His glasses were catching the steam as it poured out of the shower, obscuring his eyes.

Weakly, Kyle raised his face to look at Mark, but instead of telling him that he felt too sick to get up, he dragged himself from the bathroom floor and crawled into the shower.

"Hey! Hold on, you're still wearing your collar. You don't need to take a shower wearing that," Mark said, leaning down and unhooking it from Kyle's neck. He peered at Kyle. "Are you okay? You seem kind of out of it."

"I'm just so tired. I don't think I slept very well," Kyle said, pulling himself up and leaning against the wall of the shower, the warm water cascading over his skin.

"Oh, well, I'll get in with you. There's no reason to take two separate showers." Mark pulled off his pants and stepped into the shower too, closing the door behind him. After he let the water run over his head, soaking his hair, he stepped over to Kyle and put his arms around him.

"I'm sorry you didn't sleep so great," he said, holding Kyle close as the water rushed over them. "Here, let me help you wash, okay? You look kind of pale."

Kyle barely had the strength to nod before Mark was rubbing him down with a soap-filled sponge, his hands lingering on the areas of Kyle's body that were covered with bruises.

"Do you think I'm being too rough with you?" Mark smirked, passing the sponge over Kyle's hips where the bruises were the most prominent. He leaned Kyle up against the wall as he washed his thighs and backside, his fingers straying over the fresh contusions from the previous night. "It's crazy, you can see exactly where I grabbed you when I was fucking you yesterday."

Resting his head against the tiles, Kyle could only nod as Mark continued to wash him. His back was aching so much that he didn't even notice the fresh marks from their latest fuck session. All he could do was concentrate on staying upright as the hot water pelted him, making his nausea and fatigue worse.

"Aren't you going to wash your hair?" Mark asked, stepping away and squirting some shampoo onto his hand. "I can take care of that for you if you want."

Kyle shook his head even though it made his vision blur a little. "Pass me a little shampoo, please," he said, reaching out his hand. After Mark gave him some, he washed his hair even though he was almost too weak to lift his arms. Finally, mercifully, Mark finished washing and decided that it was time to get out, so Kyle waited in a haze as Mark grabbed towels for them both.

"Here you go," Mark said, passing him the towel. He stopped, peering at Kyle again. "Are you sure you're okay? You're being so quiet."

Kyle dried his hair as best as he could, trying to act as normally as possible. "I'm fine," he said, smiling a little. "I told you, I'm just tired."

"Was I too hard on you last night?" Mark asked, wrapping his towel around his hips.

Kyle shook his head. "Of course not. I just couldn't sleep. I had a bad dream." He pulled his towel around his shoulders and left the bathroom. He rummaged through the bag he'd brought with him and pulled a pair of boxers out, slipping them on.

Mark watched him closely, still looking suspicious. "Bad dream? What kind of bad dream?"

Kyle lay back against the pillows, drawing the covers around himself. "I don't know, it was pretty vague. I was trapped in this black void, and it was scary. Pretty standard stuff."

Mark pulled on some boxers too, and came to sit on the bed next to Kyle. "Are you scared of the dark?"

Kyle shrugged. "A little, yes."

"Is that why you panicked so much when I put the blindfold on you last night?"

"I didn't panic," Kyle protested, weakly.

"Whatever you say, Kyle." Mark rolled his eyes. "Hey, are you hungry? Did you feel like going out?"

Kyle shook his head. "I don't want anything."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? You barely ate anything yesterday."

"I ate enough."

"I was with you pretty much the whole day and you barely ate anything," Mark argued. "Let's see, you had coffee for breakfast like you always do, and then for lunch you had a salad, and then you had water at the party." He looked at Kyle pointedly. "Does that sound like enough to you?"

Kyle looked away, too tired to show how annoyed he was; although, he was also touched at how concerned Mark was being. Still, he shook his head.

"I'm not hungry. You go ahead."

"Well, okay. I'll go grab something from the kitchen, but I'm bringing you some orange juice, and you're going to drink it, okay?"

Listlessly, Kyle nodded, and he was relieved when Mark left the room, as it gave him time to curl up in the blankets and doze for awhile. Before too long, Mark was back, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other.

"Here, drink it. You promised," he said, and he pressed the glass into Kyle's hands.

Reluctantly, Kyle drank the juice, fighting the urge to gag the whole time. Mark watched him closely as he finished it all, and he looked satisfied when the glass was empty.

"There, isn't that better?"

"Sure," Kyle said, setting the glass aside with distaste. He burrowed himself back into the blankets.

Mark took a sip of coffee and set the cup down, picking up a cluster of grapes from a plate he'd brought from the kitchen. He popped one into his mouth and glanced at Kyle expectantly.

"Do you want some?"

Rather than argue, Kyle opened his mouth and accepted the grape that Mark placed on his tongue. He chewed it slowly, willing himself not to throw it up.

Mark ate the rest of the grapes, offering a few to Kyle here and there, and after he'd drained his cup of coffee he stretched his arms above his head and smiled down at Kyle.

"Did you notice how snowy it is outside? It looks like we're getting another storm."

Kyle glanced at the windows and nodded. "The forecast was calling for quite a bit of snow this weekend."

"This might surprise you, but weather like this makes me feel kind of horny." He smiled his most winning smile and climbed under the blankets, scooting close to Kyle.

"Oh? Why is it that doesn't surprise me at all?" Kyle asked, ignoring a chill that coursed through him, making his body shake.

Mark grinned at his response and drew close enough to drape his hand on Kyle's waist. Pulling him close, he kissed Kyle's mouth and he was still smiling when they pulled away from one another. "You're so warm," he said. "I don't know why, but that really turns me on."

Kyle was too weak to answer but Mark was in the process of pulling his boxers off anyway. He kissed Kyle's mouth again, licking his lips apart and dipping his tongue inside. "Mm, you taste like oranges and grapes," he murmured, lapping at Kyle's mouth and delving inside again, but deeper this time. He kissed Kyle until he reluctantly started to respond, even though his enthusiasm was extremely hindered by his fatigue.

"Your eyes are so bright," Mark said, softly, kissing Kyle's cheeks and carefully climbing on top of him, his hands gripping Kyle's wrists. "They're like a shiny green this morning." He licked Kyle's neck, making him moan a little. "Kiss me," he said, softly, but with force.

Kyle managed to lift his face and kiss Mark's lips, which tasted of coffee and his early morning cigarette. His mind began to drift as Mark's tongue entered his mouth again, and it was hard for him to stay focused on what he was doing. The pain in his back and the cloudiness in his head was starting to overtake everything else. Vaguely, he wondered if he should tell Mark that he was sick, very sick, actually, but he decided not to. He hated making waves and more than that, he hated going to the hospital. He'd spent enough time in the hospital as a kid, and he wasn't too keen on going back anytime soon.

"I don't know what it is about you this morning, but I can't wait any longer," Mark said, huskily, as he pulled Kyle's boxers down and threw them onto the floor. "I don't even know why you put these on," he said, frowning, "you had to know I'd be fucking you before too long."

Kyle could only gasp tiredly as Mark licked his hand and prepared him, his wet fingers plunging inside; insistent and warm. His body slackened when Mark lifted up Kyle's thighs and rested his knees on his forearms, and after a moment he was slowly sliding into Kyle, his hips inching forward with careful, little strokes. "I know you're tired so I'll be gentle, okay?" Mark said, whispering this against Kyle's ear as he filled him up all the way.

With leisurely movements, Mark fucked Kyle more gently than he ever had, holding him closely by wrapping his arms around the back of his head and tangling his fingers in Kyle's still damp curls. In the quiet room the moist sound of Mark sliding in and out of Kyle could be heard, and Mark kissed Kyle deeply, possessing his mouth and delving into it with a slow softness that Kyle had never experienced with him. The way Mark was kissing him made him think of Stan, and he moaned, finding energy that he didn't know he had.

"Turn over, baby," Mark murmured, squeezing Kyle's thigh just a little. Tenderly, he helped Kyle turn onto his stomach, and he raised Kyle's hips so his ass was in the air, almost presented to him like it was an offering. He entered Kyle again just as slowly as before, but this time he grabbed Kyle's wrists and pulled his arms behind his back. As Kyle cried out in weak, small gasps Mark fucked him from behind, holding onto his arms and watching as Kyle's fragile bones moved under his pale skin, which in the morning light was white and perfect.

Kyle couldn't be sure but he may have passed out as Mark thrust into him, even though he was tender and not rough like he usually was. One moment he was gasping as Mark's cock plunged deeply into him, and the next moment he was floating over everything and observing the scene; somehow, he could see Mark holding his arms back and driving into him, and he could even see himself, his face pressed against the pillow and his skin flushed and moist. At one point, he even became confused and thought that it was Stan inside of him, but instead of being fucked by him, Stan was making love to him. Without thinking, Kyle was moaning out Stan's name as Mark finished inside of him, his hot come mixing with the illness raging through his body, threatening to set him on fire.

At the sound of Stan's name escaping from Kyle's lips, Mark paused mid-thrust, and if Kyle had realized what he'd just said, he would've noticed the old familiar rage was building inside of Mark; even though he tried unsuccessfully to fight it back. He continued to come inside of Kyle in soft, calm strokes, but his dark eyes would've revealed to Kyle that what Mark really wanted to do was fuck him until he was a bloody mess; fuck him until he was begging for mercy. Instead, he finished and pulled out of Kyle slowly, dropping his customary kiss on the back of his neck and drawing Kyle into his arms so they could come down to earth together.

"How was it?" He murmured, kissing Kyle's feverish forehead and holding him close.

Kyle was almost delirious at this point so he didn't realize he'd said Stan's name. Innocently, he snuggled against Mark, hoping that his warm skin would help chase the chill from his own, not realizing that Mark was simmering with a deep, overwhelming anger.

"It was wonderful," he whispered, and in his fog of sickness he forgot himself, and he thought that he was being held by Stan, but then his mind would clear and then he was with Mark, but he was pretty sure he loved them both even if it was in different ways. In his confusion, he pressed a kiss against Mark's throat, right on his rapid pulse and said the devastating words that would prove to disarm Mark, no matter how angry he was: "I love you."

Before Mark could respond, Kyle was asleep, most likely from a combination of exhaustion and an infection that was flowing through his bloodstream, leaving Mark to stare at him in shock and disbelief.

****

"Kyle? Kyle? Wake up, please."

A voice was breaking through his dreams and calling out to him, but no matter what he did, he couldn't escape the fog that clouded his mind. He was a mixture of pain and weariness but now fear was swirling into his psyche, too, and Kyle wasn't sure if he even should wake up.

Warmth somehow passed through the delirium he was locked in and his eyes fluttered open, shying away from the light of the room he was in, even though it was dim and drowsy. Kyle's head felt so heavy, but he tried to lift it anyway, afraid now.

"No, don't move. Stay still, okay?"

Kyle blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to make them focus, and finally he could make out Mark's face; his dark eyes concerned and watching him closely. His soft hand was pressed against Kyle's face, and he assumed that was the warmth that finally pulled him from his slumber. His eyes drifted to the windows, and through the gossamer curtains he saw darkness had already fallen outside.

"What time is it?"

"A little after 5," Mark replied, gazing into Kyle's eyes. "It's been storming all day, off and on, so it's been pretty dark for awhile."

Even though Mark had told him not to move, Kyle tried to sit up, feeling guilty for sleeping the entire day away. Mark responded by gently but firmly pushing Kyle back down and adjusting the blanket across him.

"I told you to stay still, Kyle. Why don't you ever listen?"

"I wasted the entire day," Kyle said, feeling like he would cry in his sick frame of mind. "I slept all day instead of spending time with you."

Mark's face was tender as he smoothed Kyle's hair away from his forehead. Reaching over to a basin he had on the nightstand, he drew a damp cloth from it and wrung it out. He placed the cloth against Kyle's face, softly sopping up the sweat on his forehead and cheeks. The coolness from the water almost made Kyle cry, too; only because it was so comforting.

"You needed to sleep," Mark said, looking grim. "You're sick, and I'm pretty sure you woke up feeling this way. Why didn't you tell me?"

Kyle shrugged weakly. "I don't know. I guess I didn't want to bother you."

"Are you serious right now? Kyle, you're burning up with a fever! How could you be so dumb about something that could potentially be life-threatening?"

"Oh, give me a break. So I have a fever, what's the big deal? People get sick and have fevers every day. You're seriously making too much out of this situation." Kyle awkwardly pushed the covers away and clumsily sat up, his head spinning. He pressed his feet against the floor and willed himself to stand, even though his whole body was shaking.

"Kyle, wait, let me help you-"

Before Mark could finish his statement, Kyle had pushed himself off the bed and had managed to walk a couple steps before face-planting on the floor. Blearily, he could feel Mark helping him up, grumbling the whole time.

"You're seriously nuts, Kyle. What are you even thinking right now?" He asked as he heaved Kyle onto the bed. Kyle wrapped his arms around himself, his teeth chattering from a chill that shot through him.

"I need to go to the bathroom," he said, hating how whiny he sounded when he was sick.

"Well, come on, I'll help you, okay? You're too weak to go by yourself."

Mark helped Kyle into the bathroom where he slumped onto the toilet, embarrassed that Mark was present while he urinated.

"Do you have to stand right there?" He asked, trying to cover himself. He'd fallen asleep naked after having sex with Mark, so he was completely starkers.

Mark rolled his eyes as he leaned against the wall. "I'm well aware that you have normal bodily functions just like every other human on the planet. Besides, what if you passed out and fell off the john? Wouldn't that be even more humiliating?"

"I doubt that would happen," Kyle said, coolly. "Can I at least have a shirt or something?"

"Really? You want to put clothes on? I'm kind of enjoying you being naked for the entire day, not just when we go to bed," Mark teased, smiling.

"I'm really not in the mood for this, Mark." Kyle finished urinating and looked at Mark, his eyes wide. "Can you go get me something to wear while I finish up?"

"Jesus, fine. I'll be right back."

A moment later Mark had returned holding an oversized t-shirt that had Garfield on the front wearing bunny slippers and a nightcap. Underneath it said 'I Hate Mondays' in bold red letters. Kyle stared at it incredulously.

"Seriously, out of all the shirts you have you chose that one?"

Mark shrugged. "I always wear it when I'm sick. It's super comfy and soft."

"Ugh, fine. Hand it over." He took it and slipped it over his head; it fell to the middle of his thighs. "You're right, this is comfy," he said, looking at himself in the mirror.

"Well, I'm glad you're pleased. Are you going to get back in bed now?"

"I really don't want to, but I probably should," Kyle said, allowing Mark to lead him out of the bathroom. Before he even made it to the doorway his legs crumpled beneath him and he was falling forward. At the last moment, Mark caught him and held him up.

"This brings back memories, doesn't it?" Mark asked, smiling.

Kyle blushed, hating to be so weak and helpless. "I'm fine, I can make it from here. Let go."

"No way. Stop being so stubborn, Kyle," Mark said, gripping Kyle's arm.

"I'm not, I can just walk to the bed by myself," he pulled his arm away and took a step; promptly, his legs gave out and Mark caught him again.

"Fuck this," he said, and he bent down to pick up Kyle in one smooth motion.

Kyle blushed to be carried princess style back to the bed, and he promptly started complaining.

"Give it a rest, Kyle. You weigh next to nothing so stop thinking that my carrying you is putting me out in any way." Mark carried him to the bed and gently laid him down.

"Quit making cracks about my weight," Kyle snapped, pulling the covers up to his chin.

"It's not my fault you weigh less than a pre-teen girl, Kyle. Maybe if you actually ate something on occasion that wouldn't be the case."

"I eat all the time!"

"Kyle, coffee and garden salads for almost every meal is bullshit and you know it." Mark came over and picked up the cloth from the basin again. Wringing it out, he wiped Kyle's forehead, who reluctantly allowed him to do so.

"Speaking of food, I really think you should eat something. You've had a glass of orange juice and like 4 grapes today."

"I'm not hungry."

Mark threw the cloth down in exasperation. "You're impossible, you know that?"

Kyle scooted down under the covers until they came up past his chin, and he looked at Mark with large fever-bright eyes. "I feel too nauseous to eat. If I have anything I'll throw up."

Mark's expression softened. "Okay, I can understand that. What about some broth or something? That shouldn't be too difficult to keep down, right?"

"I guess, but I still don't really want anything."

"Well, I'm making it either way. I'll be back." Mark stood and left the room, shutting the door behind himself.

Kyle smiled and closed his eyes, feeling cozy and warm under the covers. He still felt completely awful but it was sweet to have Mark actually taking care of him. He honestly didn't even think he was capable of that.

He was dozing by the time Mark came back, and he softly nudged Kyle awake. "Come on, Kyle. Have some broth, okay? You don't have to eat it all but at least have a little."

Kyle nodded, and he tried to sit up, but he was completely exhausted from using the bathroom. He looked at Mark helplessly.

"That's okay, here," he said, and he spooned some broth into Kyle's mouth.

"Thank you," Kyle said, meekly. He opened his mouth to accept more.

"Is it helping at all?" Mark asked, and Kyle noticed for the first time that he looked a little anxious.

"Yes, it actually tastes really good." Kyle obediently ate almost the whole bowl of broth until he was too tired to keep his eyes open. He waved away the spoon and turned over on his side.

Mark reached out and rubbed Kyle's back softly, and he groaned.

"That feels good, right there. My back hurts so badly on the left side," Kyle said, gritting his teeth against the ache.

Mark's hand rubbed Kyle's flank gently, his fingers probing the area that Kyle said was bothering him.

"Maybe you have a kidney infection," Mark said. "Are you having any pain when you urinate?"

"Yes, a lot," Kyle said, moaning as Mark touched an especially tender spot.

"We should probably take you to the doctor tomorrow."

"No, no doctors," Kyle said, shaking his head.

"How does that make any sense? You want to be a doctor someday but you don't want to go to one when you're sick? That's crazy."

"Then I'm crazy," Kyle said, beginning to drift off to sleep; Mark rubbing his back until he was gone.

*****

Kyle woke up in the middle of the night, his shirt drenched in sweat and his fever raging. For a moment he was disoriented and he had no idea where he was, but when he turned his head he saw Mark reading in the bed beside him; soft lamplight glowing on the nightstand. In the corner, the fish swam placidly in the gurgling blue fish tank.

When Mark noticed that Kyle was awake, he laid his book aside and took off his glasses, looking at him with concern.

"Hey, baby," he said, softly. "How are you feeling?"

Kyle was suddenly shy, despite the illness ravaging his body. Blushing, he turned to face Mark, his hand resting under his flushed cheek.

"I feel okay, I guess," he replied, quietly. "I feel so warm, though. And my back still really hurts."

Mark placed a cool hand on Kyle's forehead and his face became somber. "You're really burning up. Here," he said, reaching over to the nightstand and grabbing something. "Open your hand," he instructed.

Kyle did and Mark dropped a couple brown pills in his palm. After a moment, he handed Kyle a bottle of water.

"Take it, it's ibuprofen. I feel dumb for not giving you some earlier, but at least I thought of it eventually."

Kyle took the pills and drank half the bottle of water. After handing the bottle back, he relaxed against the pillow again. Before he knew it, he was drifting to sleep.

It felt like it was only a few moments later when Kyle was waking up again. Mark had turned off his bedside lamp and had fallen asleep, his book still in his hand. Kyle whimpered as he looked into the semi-darkness of the room, thankful for the fish tank in the corner. He had to use the bathroom but he didn't want to bother Mark again, so he willed himself to sit up and throw his legs over the edge of the bed. Kyle didn't dare try to walk so he slipped out of the bed and onto the floor, opting instead to crawl to the bathroom.

Fighting back dizziness and fatigue, he made it to the bathroom and managed to do his business, his back still aching terribly. Once he was done he crawled to the sink to wash his hands, fussy even when he was sick. When he was back in bed and totally spent from his excursion, he drew the covers up to his chin and tried to go back to sleep but he just couldn't, even though he was exhausted. He stared at the ceiling and saw colorful shapes skitter across his vision, no doubt as a result of his fever.

"You can't sleep either, huh?" Mark asked suddenly, starling him.

"No," Kyle whispered. "I had to use the bathroom and now I'm too warm to go back to sleep."

Mark's hand slid under the blankets and came to rest on Kyle's thigh, feeling wonderfully cool and soft.

"I know this is terrible to say, but I kind of like how warm you feel," Mark murmured, his hand gently squeezing Kyle's leg. "Just touching you kind of turns me on. Is that weird?"

"Hmm, a little," Kyle admitted. "But I like that you feel that way."

"You do?"

"Yes, and you know what else I like?" Kyle asked, blushing in the darkness.

"What?"

"When you call me baby."

"Oh? I didn't think you even noticed."

"I did."

They were quiet for a moment, with Mark's hand still on Kyle's thigh. Slowly, he rolled over and moved toward Kyle, draping his body across him.

"I'm not too heavy, am I?" He asked, leaning a lot of his weight on his elbows on either side of Kyle's head.

Kyle shook his head, smiling up at him.

"God, the heat is just pouring off of you," Mark said, stroking Kyle's face with his thumbs. "I've been wanting to touch you all day but I didn't want to make you feel worse."

"You can touch me now. I don't mind," Kyle said, softly.

"Are you sure?"

Kyle answered by reaching up and kissing Mark's mouth, his tongue darting out and licking his lips lightly. Mark reciprocated by opening his mouth, his tongue meeting Kyle's and they pressed together. Mark pulled away then and kissed along Kyle's cheek up to his forehead.

"I'll be gentle like I was this morning, okay?" he asked, kissing along Kyle's jaw and down to his throat.

"Do whatever you want," Kyle moaned, already getting lost in Mark's kisses. His fever made him drowsy and a little hazy, and at the moment anything that Mark did to him felt amazing in his delirious state.

"Well, if you say so," Mark replied, reaching down and pushing up Kyle's shirt until it was above his hips. Lifting it a little, he slid his hands up Kyle's stomach and pinched his nipples, making Kyle jump a little. He was kissing Kyle's mouth lazily and deeply, his tongue delving inside and exploring.

Mark slipped two fingers into Kyle's mouth and instructed him to suck on them, which he did, gently, and eventually, Mark's hands drifted down Kyle's body and slipped underneath his backside, finding the place that was still a little sore from the sex they'd had earlier in the day. He spread Kyle apart and slipped his wet fingers inside of him, making him throw his head back and moan from the sensation.

He carefully prepared Kyle, making sure to go slowly and be as tender as possible, until Kyle was writhing against him and begging Mark to be inside him. Lifting Kyle's legs, Mark wrapped them around his waist and slid into Kyle easily, his cock sinking into the moisture and warmth, and he groaned softly. Leaning forward, he wrapped his arms around the back of Kyle's head, just like he'd done that morning, and his fingers wound through his hair. Mark kissed Kyle's panting mouth, thrusting into him like he was enjoying being able to take his time, every easy movement drawing a moan from Kyle.

"Mm, I love fucking you like this," he murmured, speeding up, but only slightly. "You're so warm and your body's so relaxed, but you're still so tight."

Kyle turned his face away and every stroke drove him higher and higher toward a delirious oblivion, the heat from his and Mark's bodies engulfing him.

"I'm so close, Kyle, but I don't want to stop," Mark murmured against his throat, his teeth biting down gently. "Why do you have to feel so good?"

Kyle could only moan and arch his aching body into Mark's warmth, the motion making him clench around his cock, and Mark was grunting deep in his throat as he came in Kyle, his thrusts matching up with Kyle's delicate little gasps. Mark slid his arms down from under Kyle's head to his upper back, and he lifted him from the bed, hugging him against his chest and pressing his cheek against Kyle's. His raspy breath was hot against Mark's ear, and it was his turn to sigh; the sensation of being inside of Kyle soothing the anger he usually felt. Mark held Kyle close long after he was through coming, just enjoying the feeling of having Kyle's heat against his skin and his wild animal heartbeat pulsing in his chest; the rapid little beats gradually slowing down.

Kyle was teetering on the cusp of sleep when Mark pulled back to look in his face, and he brushed a hand over Kyle's forehead, frowning.

"You have to go to the doctor tomorrow, Kyle," he said, sliding out of Kyle and rising from the bed. Looking around, he grabbed his discarded boxers and wiped himself off. Grabbing his pajama pants from the floor, he pulled them on. "As much as your fever gets me going it would be irresponsible not to get you checked out."

"No, I don't want to," Kyle replied, tiredly. He lay back against the pillows, the blankets pulled away and his long t-shirt still hiked up over his hips.

"I don't care. If you're still this feverish in the morning, I'm taking you to the hospital. You probably need antibiotics." He thought a moment. "I wouldn't be surprised if they gave you IV fluids, too."

"I really don't want to go, Mark," Kyle protested, almost starting to cry. "I hate needles and I hate how bright the hospital always is."

Mark softened. "I know the hospital is not the most pleasant place in the world but, Kyle, you're sick; really sick. My mom would crucify me if she found out that I didn't take you; she's crazy about stuff like this."

"Oh, so that's why you're so concerned. Your mom might get mad at you," Kyle replied, his flushed face petulant.

Mark rolled his eyes. "Really, Kyle? You know that's not what I meant."

"Sure, you didn't." Kyle rolled over on his side, facing away from Mark. After a few seconds, Mark's hand gently closed on his shoulder and he was being pulled onto his back again.

"Look, drama queen, I'm worried about you, okay? Am I really so terrible that you can't even accept that I might actually care?"

"Yeah, that's why you've been screwing someone else while fucking around with me."

"Kyle," Mark said, his voice stern.

"Well, it's true. I'm just a passing fancy for you, aren't I?"

"Kyle, the fact that I'm responding like this shows that I care, okay? Normally I wouldn't give a shit if someone I slept with was sick; I'd just let them figure it out on their own." He sighed. "I might even admit that I shouldn't have been fucking someone else while we were together, too, but that isn't the issue right now. The issue is that you're sick and I'm taking your ass to the hospital in the morning whether you want to go or not."

"Really? I'd like to see you try."

"Kyle, I always end up getting my way so we could save a lot of time and energy if you just accepted the situation for what it is. Oh, and by the way, let's not even talk about my supposed infidelity after the shit you pulled this morning."

Kyle looked at him, his eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, it's really no big deal," Mark said, sarcastically. "You just called out Stan's name as I was fucking you. That was a great way to finish, I have to say."

"No, I didn't," Kyle said, putting a hand over his mouth and blushing. "Did I? No, you're just messing with me."

"Why would I make up something that makes me look bad, Kyle? Clearly, you weren't thinking about me at the time, but you sure as hell were thinking about Stan."

Kyle covered his face with his hands, his body trembling a little from chills and dizziness. "That's not the case. I think I might have passed out while we were doing it, Mark. I was barely coherent, so anything I said shouldn't be taken seriously."

"How's that saying go?" Mark said, laying a finger against his chin. "A drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts?"

"I wasn't drunk, Mark."

He shrugged. "Sick? Drunk? What's the difference? On some sub-conscious level you were thinking about Stan, Kyle; while I was coming inside of you. If that isn't cause for concern I don't know what is."

"I still care about Stan. You don't just turn off your feelings that easily."

"Oh, but I'm supposed to just get over the person I've been with for years?"

"You've been fucking this person; recently. Within the last couple of weeks! Your situation is completely different!" Kyle managed to yell.

Mark looked at Kyle, his eyes becoming almost as remote as they had when he was punishing him. "How do I know you aren't fucking around with Stan?"

Kyle gasped. "I can't believe you just asked me that. You're the only person I've ever been with, and I wouldn't do that to you!"

"You better not," Mark said, darkly. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "I can't believe I'm even concerned about this dramatic bullshit. I've never given two fucks about being cheated on, with like, one exception, and now we're having this goddamn conversation. Sex with you is amazing, Kyle, but this emotional crap fucking sucks."

"It's nice to know you're even capable of emotions," Kyle replied, under his breath.

Mark's hand reached out and grabbed Kyle's ankle, squeezing it enough to make Kyle moan slightly.

"I know you're sick, Kyle, but that doesn't mean you can mouth off," Mark said, his voice dangerously low. "I'm already pissed off about you screaming out some other guy's name while we were having sex so don't fucking push your luck. My morals aren't so great that I won't fuck you again, and I won't be as gentle the next time."

Kyle silently pulled the blankets up and over his mouth, staring at Mark with watchful eyes.

"Now, we're going to the hospital in the morning if you wake up and you're still sick, and I don't want to argue about it. Do you understand?"

Kyle nodded.

"Good. Now, then," he leaned over and pulled the covers off of Kyle, tossing them aside. Mark scooped Kyle out of bed like he was weightless, and he was carrying him to the bathroom before Kyle could react.

"What are you doing?" Kyle asked, wrapping his arms around Mark's neck in a panic.

"You're taking a bath before going to bed. If we're going to the hospital in the morning I'm pretty sure you don't want to smell like sex and sweat. Right?"

"I guess not."

"Besides, it'll probably help you sleep." Mark deposited Kyle on the toilet and drew his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor. Turning away, he started the water in the bath tub, while Kyle just stared at him.

"How can you be so nice and so mean at the same time?" He asked, watching as Mark emptied some bubble bath into the water as well; the bathroom filling with the aroma of clean cotton.

"I don't know, Kyle. I guess I'm just an enigma. Now, come on, give me your hand and I'll help you in. The water's already getting pretty high."

****


	18. Chapter 18

"See? Aren't you glad we came?"

Mark was leaning against the wall as Kyle lay in bed, dressed in a hospital gown with IV tubes attached to both arms. Kyle turned his head on the scratchy pillow and managed to find the strength to glare at him; somehow managing to ignore the little twinges from the needles in his skin.

"Do you always have to gloat when you're right?"

Mark shrugged. "I'm just saying, you need to give credit where credit is due."

When Kyle had woken up that morning, his fever was even worse, and when he had tried to sit up his heart had started beating uncomfortably fast, making him feel faint and he fell back against the pillows. With gasping breaths, he had turned to Mark in fear, not sure what to do. Mark had felt Kyle's forehead and said a few choice obscenities, then announced that they were going to the hospital right away.

After quickly dressing Kyle in an old pair of sweatpants and a hoody that was way too large, he'd carried him down the stairs and out to his car, where he'd placed him in the front seat. Mark had been annoyed with himself for not thinking to warm up the car first, so their breath had hung in the cold air in icy puffs, and he turned on the heater to full blast, willing it to hurry and heat up the fucking car already. Kyle, for his part, had sat in his seat looking small and helpless, his gasping breaths escaping his lips in white clouds, his heart beating like a jackhammer in his chest. The fever stripped him of his strength, and the ache in his back was reaching a point where it started to become unbearable.

Mark had rushed him to Hell's Pass, where he'd carried him into the ER department and frantically brought him to the counter, demanding that they help Kyle immediately.

"Calm down, sir," the triage nurse had said, not getting caught up in Mark's panic. "Set him over there and then step away. I have to check his vitals. Do you have his insurance card and photo ID?"

"Yeah, they're right here," Mark had said, fumbling in his pocket where he'd stashed Kyle's wallet and phone. "Here."

She had taken the cards and glanced at them for a moment, before setting them aside and walking over to Kyle. He was slumped in a chair, his raspy breaths practically being torn from him with every rise of his chest. The nurse's face had changed when she saw the condition he was in, and a look of compassion appeared.

"I'm going to get your temperature and your blood pressure, okay?" She'd asked, softly. "My name is Megan, by the way."

Kyle had only nodded, his green eyes fever-bright and afraid, and he'd cooperated completely when she'd rolled the thermometer across his forehead. After his temperature had registered, she looked at it and frowned.

"So, what's going on, Kyle. What kind of symptoms have you been having?" She'd picked up a clipboard and was writing down his vitals, her forehead furrowed.

"Well, I just feel really hot, and my back hurts," Kyle had said, his voice faint. "I don't know, I'm just so tired."

Frustrated, Mark had stepped forward and spoken up. "He's had a really high fever since yesterday, and he said he's having left flank pain." He turned to Kyle, his eyes narrowed. "Kyle, on a scale from 1 to 10, 10 being the worst, what would you say your current pain level is in your back?"

Kyle thought a moment, confused. "I don't know. It's not that bad; maybe a 4?"

Mark turned to Megan, who also looked skeptical at Kyle's answer. "That's bullshit. He's been complaining about being in pain, even after taking 800mg of Ibuprofen."

Megan noted this on the form she'd been writing on. "When did he last take any medication?"

"About two hours ago. He also said it hurts when he urinates." Mark looked at Kyle. "Does it burn when you go to the bathroom?"

Kyle nodded, weakly.

"Here, let's get your blood pressure," Megan had said, setting aside her clipboard and looping a blood pressure cuff around Kyle's arm, after she'd rolled up his sleeve. These results made her frown too. "Are you able to stand up and get on the scale?"

"I can help him," Mark had said, going over to Kyle and getting him to his feet. Kyle had staggered to the scale and stepped on it.

"122 pounds," Megan read off, writing it down on her clipboard.

"Jesus, eat a pie, Kyle," Mark had teased, trying to lighten the mood. Kyle had just grunted and slumped back in the chair after Mark led him to it.

"Well, based on your vitals, you're probably going to have to be admitted," Megan said. She turned to an orderly. "Hey, James, can you help me transport a patient back to one of the exam rooms?"

Less than an hour later, Kyle had been admitted, his arms propped on either side of him with IV antibiotics pumping through one tube, and saline flowing through the other. He was flitting in and out of sleep, waking every few minutes to make sure that Mark was still there.

"I'm not going anywhere, Kyle. Relax," Mark finally said, taking a seat and crossing one leg over the other.

"Please, don't," Kyle said, tiredly. "I don't want to be here by myself."

"I've already called your mom and she said that she's on her way. Your dad is at his office but she said that she'd let him know what's going on," Mark replied.

"Oh, that's good," Kyle said, faintly, and he was drifting again.

******

Kyle came to hours later, though he didn't realize it at the time. When he opened his eyes the IVs were still in his skin, but he didn't feel as hot. He turned his head to see Mark dozing in a chair, his arms crossed and his face free from anger or irritation. Stale air was filtering into Kyle's nostrils, and he realized that a simple oxygen mask had been placed on his face. He tried to remember if it had been there before he fell asleep, but he couldn't, and the thought made him whimper because he felt so disoriented.

Mark stirred, his eyes blinking open, and he looked at Kyle. For the first time, Kyle noticed the purple shadows under them, and he wondered why Mark looked so concerned. Lifting an arm from the bed, he reached out toward Mark, wanting to feel his hand wrapped around his own.

"How are you feeling?" Mark asked, his voice a little rough. He came over to Kyle and took his hand, holding it loosely.

"I'm okay," Kyle said. "How long have we been here?"

"All day," Mark said, rubbing his eyes. "You've been sleeping pretty much the whole time, but you needed it."

"Where's my mom?"

"She went to the cafeteria to get something to drink. She should be back soon."

Just then, the doctor walked briskly into the room, a clipboard in his hand. Mark stepped back as he came up to Kyle's bedside, eyeing Kyle's vitals on the screens next to him, the steady sound of beeping filling the silence in the room.

"I'm Dr. Uberoi," he said, shaking Kyle's hand. "And you're Kyle, right?"

He nodded.

"Well, you're pretty sick, Kyle. You have a pretty nasty kidney infection, and the way you were going, you were on your way to developing sepsis."

Kyle glanced at Mark with his eyes wide. Mark just looked serious, his arms crossed.

"We've sent your urine out for culture, of course, and we're waiting to see what the results will say, but for now you're going to need antibiotics and fluids for awhile. You're going to stay overnight, at least, so we can keep an eye on you. How are you feeling now? Any better?"

"A little, I guess," Kyle replied. "I really don't want to stay here overnight, though."

"Who does?" Dr. Uberoi asked, smiling a little. "Here, let me check you out, and then you can get back to resting."

The doctor listened to Kyle's heart and lungs, and then had him lean forward, and he pressed his stethoscope against his back, asking him to take deep breaths. He thumped his fingers against Kyle's kidneys, his face a mask of concentration. Stepping away, he wrote something on yet another clipboard, and smiled at Kyle.

"Try to get as much sleep as possible, okay? That's going to be the thing that helps you the most right now. Do you have any questions for me?"

Kyle shook his head.

"Well, then, I'll leave you alone so you can rest. Let the nurses know if you need anything, okay? I'll be back to check on you later." Briskly, he left the room, looping his stethoscope around his neck.

Mark looked at Kyle, his face impassive. "Did you hear that, Kyle? Sepsis. You could've developed sepsis. Do you know how fucking serious that is?"

Kyle shrugged helplessly. "I just didn't want to make a big deal out of anything."

"Normally I'd tell people to get the fuck over themselves and suck it up, but Kyle, this could've been really bad." Mark rubbed a hand over his mouth. "Just, promise me that in the future you won't ignore stuff like this, okay?" He reached out and laid a hand on Kyle's.

Kyle smiled, fatigue starting to set in again. "You do care about me."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "I never said that I didn't."

"Yeah, but I'm starting to think that you care more than you're willing to show." Kyle sighed, closing his eyes and turning his head so he faced the windows. Weak winter sunlight filtered through the blinds, and it lit up his face. Vaguely, he could hear Mark take a deep breath, and he opened his eyes a little.

"Thank you," he murmured. "I'm glad you were there to take care of me." And he was gone again, slipping into the darkness.

 

****

"You know, Kyle's always been delicate like this; ever since he was a child he was always getting sick. Honestly, I'm not surprised this happened."

Kyle opened his eyes to see his mom talking with Dr. Cotswolds. Mark was sitting on the chair at his bedside, looking at his phone with his head propped on one hand. When he noticed that Kyle's eyes were open, he called to his mom and Mrs. Broflovski.

"Oh, Kyle, thank god you're awake! I've been here all day and I'm just worried sick!" Mrs. Broflovski cried, and she leaned down to hug Kyle gently.

"Mom, I'm fine. Promise," Kyle said, tolerating his mother's hug with a good-natured smile.

"You're just lucky that Mark was with you and he had the good sense to take you to the hospital." She smiled at Mark while chastising Kyle, even though she didn't look truly angry.

"It was nothing," Mark said, treating Mrs. Broflovski to his most winning smile.

Sheila turned to Dr. Cotswolds, beaming. "You must be so proud of your son, Lydia. He is just so responsible and good to my Kyle. I don't know how we can ever repay him, or you, for that matter."

Dr. Cotswolds placed a hand on her son's shoulder, her face proud. "I think Mark can agree that Kyle getting well is repayment enough, Sheila. Really, I should be thanking you. Your son has done Mark a world of good. I've never seen him so happy since he became friends with Kyle."

"Oh, I know! They're just thick as thieves!" Mrs. Broflovski beamed.

Kyle and Mark just glanced at each other, trying not to laugh. Oh, if only their mothers knew the truth!

"Kyle, I have to get back to work, but I wanted to make sure you're feeling better," Dr. Cotswolds said, coming over to Kyle's bedside.

"I'm feeling a lot better, Dr. Cotswolds."

"Well, that's good. You'll probably be here for a couple days but I suspect you'll be on the mend before too long." She turned to Mark. "I'll see you at home later on, okay? Keep an eye on Kyle, will you?"

Mark nodded, his eyes locked on Kyle's. "Of course, mom. See you later."

Dr. Cotswolds bustled out of the room as Sheila looked after her, her face full of admiration.

"Mark, your mother is just wonderful. Have you asked her about coming over for dinner soon?"

Mark nodded. "Yes, Sheila. She said she'd let me know when she had a free night."

"Oh, good!" She turned to Kyle. "Honey, I'm going to have to go soon. I left Ike at home by himself because I didn't want to drag him in here. Are you going to be okay if I leave?" She reached out and plumped up his pillows, and Kyle fought the urge to shoo her hands away.

"I'll be fine, mom. Go home to Ike and don't worry about me."

"Well, if you're sure." She glanced at Mark and smiled. "You'll have Mark, so I'm sure you'll be okay. Right, Mark?"

"Of course," Mark said. "I planned to stay until visiting hours were over."

"Oh, you are such a good friend to my little Kyle," she said, and she clutched Kyle's hand. "I'll be back tomorrow, bright and early, okay? Please call me if you need me, alright? I'll come running as fast as I can."

"Sure, mom." He looked at Mark with an annoyed face as his mother gathered him into his arms, hugging him close.

"Okay, sweetie, I'm going. You'll call me, right? If anything happens?"

Kyle nodded, waving her away. "Mom, go. I'm fine."

She threw a kiss his way as she left the room, leaving Kyle and Mark alone. Mark smirked.

"I can't decide if it's funny or sad how clueless our moms are," he said, sitting down beside Kyle again.

"Hmm, I think it's a little bit of both. How would your parents respond if they knew what we did together?"

"What, the hardcore bondage shit or just the fact that we like to fuck each other?"

Kyle blushed. "Us having sex, I guess."

"My mom would be fine with it but my dad would have something to say. Not that I'd care, of course. My dad can get fucked. What about your parents?"

Kyle thought a moment. "I think my mom would be sad because she'd automatically assume that she'd never have any grandchildren, and my dad would just back my mom up with whatever she thought." He shifted against the pillows. "I'm pretty sure she'd just end up badgering me about adoption or having a surrogate. As long as she got grandchildren I don't think she'd care if I was fucking the Loch Ness monster."

"That's really touching," Mark said, laughing. "Did you need anything?"

"Not right now, no. Just don't leave, okay?"

"Visiting hours aren't over for another hour or so, so I'll be staying until they kick my ass out," Mark replied. "I do have to go to the bathroom, though. Will you be okay until I get back?" He looked at Kyle with his eyebrows raised, a teasing look on his face.

"Just go, already," Kyle said, adjusting himself under the blankets. His body still ached but not nearly to the same extent as before. He watched Mark leave the room, a feeling of tenderness stealing over him. Closing his eyes, he tried to sleep, until he heard a rustling noise; assuming it was Mark returning from the bathroom, he reached out a hand and when he felt strong fingers gripping his own, he opened his eyes, smiling.

Stan was standing there, his eyes filled with deep concern and his clothes in disarray. He gripped Kyle's hand like it was a lifeline.

"Jesus Christ, Kyle, are you okay?"

Kyle was so surprised for a moment that he couldn't speak. Finally, he managed to say Stan's name, but he still couldn't believe that he was there.

"I rushed over after I got out of work," Stan explained, sitting down but refusing to let go of Kyle's hand. "I would've been here sooner but I couldn't get away."

"That's okay, Stan. It's nice that you came to visit me; I know how tired you are after working all day," Kyle said, smiling and squeezing Stan's fingers. He studied Stan's face and he remembered how he looked the night of the bonfire, and the memories of wanting to kiss his mouth flooded back to him, making him flush.

"I can't believe you're in the hospital," Stan said. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, I managed to get a kidney infection," Kyle replied, waving this bit of information away like it wasn't the least bit important. "Stan, how did you know I was here?"

"I texted him and told him," Mark said, entering the room. He was carrying a cup of coffee, his other hand jammed into the back pocket of his jeans.

Kyle gaped at him, and then he looked at Stan, who nodded; his face grim.

"It's true, Kyle."

Mark shrugged, drinking his coffee. "He kept blowing up your phone, asking when you two were going to hang out today, so I told him you were in the hospital."

"Don't act like you're some kind of saint. It was the least you could do considering all the bullshit you've put Kyle through," Stan snapped, glancing over his shoulder at him.

Mark regarded him like he was looking at an insect of little to no value. "That's a pretty shitty attitude to have considering I didn't have to tell you anything."

Stan's grip on Kyle's hand tightened, and Kyle could feel apprehension filling him up until he almost couldn't breathe; making him feel the way he had before he got to the hospital.

"You know, I am pretty fucking sick of your attitude," Stan seethed. "I was willing to play nice at Kenny's party and not knock your ass out, but you are seriously asking for it."

Mark's face was inscrutable. "I'm not really too concerned about your bullshit threats, I have to be honest."

Stan rounded on him, finally letting go of Kyle's hand. "What, it wasn't enough that I handed your ass to you at school? Did you need me to beat the shit out of you in a hospital, too?"

Mark's eyes became cold, and he reached into his jacket pocket. "You surprised me that time. I can pretty much guarantee that that wouldn't be the case if you tried something again." He sneered. "You know, it's pretty fucking weak that you needed to jump me, anyway. What, did you know that I'd beat your ass if I knew you were coming?"

Finally, Kyle found his voice and he weakly tried to intervene. "Stop, please. You guys really don't need to do this."

"Stay out of this, Kyle," Stan said, keeping his eyes on Mark. He smirked when he saw Mark frown.

"What? You think you're the only one that can order Kyle around? I'm not surprised he's acting the way he is. You've got him totally brainwashed."

Mark smiled, and Kyle shivered to see the cold, blank look filtering into his eyes. He wasn't sure how he knew, but he was sure that Mark was about to go for Stan's jugular, and he tried to speak up to keep that from happening.

"Stan, stop. Please, you don't need to act like this. I-"

"Be quiet, Kyle," Mark said, his voice soft, and Kyle recognized the dangerous edge to it. Almost without thinking, he obeyed, and he fell silent; his heart racing. Clutching the side of his bed, he tried to get control of the rapid beating in his chest.

Stan looked back at him, his eyes taking on a new understanding. "You don't have to listen to him, Kyle. Finish what you were going to say."

Kyle looked at Mark and he shook his head just a fraction, a severe look in his eyes. Kyle stayed silent, dropping his eyes to stare at his hands resting on the railing of his bed.

This exchange did not escape Stan's notice, and he clenched his fists at his sides. "Goddammit, Kyle! Why are you listening to him? Can't you think for yourself anymore?" He looked at Mark with contempt. "What have you done to him, huh? Why is he so scared of you?"

Mark smirked, his hand still in his pocket. Casually, he took a sip of his coffee. "Are you scared of me, Kyle?"

Stan glanced at Kyle, his blue eyes wild. He waited for Kyle to answer, and he could see that he was shaking he was so angry.

Kyle looked at Mark again, and like a puppet having its strings pulled, Mark raised an eyebrow and Kyle was answering obediently; his response in Mark's favor, of course.

"Stan, you're being crazy. I'm not scared of Mark. He took me to the hospital when I was sick; he cares about me!"

When Stan turned to look at Mark in disbelief, Mark was still smiling in his cruel way. "See? I'm not sure what kind of weird mentality you have about all of this, but you've clearly misread this situation."

"You're a fucking liar. I know you're manipulating this situation and Kyle's just too afraid to contradict you," Stan seethed.

"Right, Kyle's afraid of me; that's why I've fucked him," Mark stopped, drawing his hand from his pocket so he could count on his fingers, "four times in the last two days?" He looked around Stan at Kyle for confirmation. "It was four times, right, Kyle?"

"Mark, please," Kyle said, weakly. He was so humiliated that he couldn't bring himself to look at Stan, even though he could feel him staring at him.

"That isn't true," Stan said, faintly. "I mean, Kyle told me that you two slept together, but-"

"Do you want to see the pictures?" Mark asked, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "I have the proof right here."

"Please, don't!" Kyle yelled, finally able to muster enough strength to raise his voice. Stan glanced back at Kyle, and seeing the look on Kyle's face, the flushed embarrassment written there, all the fight seemed to drain from him.

"I can send the picture to you, if you'd like," Mark continued, twisting the screw. "It really wouldn't be a problem."

Stan looked down at the floor, and Kyle could feel his heart breaking to see him look so devastated. "Mark, stop. You've made your point," he said. "Just stop."

But Mark wasn't done, and he seemed to be in some type of sadistic glory. He drained the coffee in his cup and crushed it, throwing it into a garbage can by the door. "I know you've probably always wondered what it would be like with Kyle, so let me give you a few details-"

"Mark, stop!"

"Shut up, Kyle. I'm talking," Mark said. He looked at Stan and Kyle was reminded of the night of his punishment, and he recognized the stranger, no, the monster, standing up inside of Mark's skin and assuming his form, and he knew it wasn't the same person that had taken him to the hospital, or even the same person that had fucked him so gently the night before that Kyle almost thought they were making love.

"He's incredibly tight, I can tell you that much," Mark was saying now, "and you should see the face he makes when he's just about to come." He closed his eyes, almost in ecstasy. "It's like he gives off this scent that just makes you want to fuck him, even if you've just gotten done being inside of him." He smiled. "You must know what that feels like, right? Wanting to fuck him so badly you can taste it? Right, Stan?"

Stan just gaped at him, his eyes wide with shock. It was like he was frozen in the sights of a hunter. Kyle started to cry softly.

Mark just smiled that bright smile again, and all at once his eyes were back to themselves. "I just thought you should know what it's like because you'll probably never get to actually be with Kyle. I figure that's the least I can do for you."

In that moment, a nurse popped her head into the room and told them all that visiting hours were just about over. When she left, Mark looked expectantly at Stan, his eyebrow raised.

"Can you excuse us, please? I want to say good night to Kyle."

Kyle continued to cry as Stan stared between him and Mark, his face still a mask of shock and unbelievable sadness. Wordlessly, he left the room, Kyle continuing to weep as he watched him go. He turned to Mark and reached for his coat, holding onto it as strongly as his illness-wracked body would allow.

"Why? Why did you do that? Why did you say those awful things to him?"

Mark reached down and gripped Kyle's chin softly, and he leaned down to kiss Kyle's lips.

"I guess I was teaching you a lesson for saying his name when we had sex yesterday," he replied.

Kyle just looked at him questioningly, tears still dropping from his eyes.

"Sometimes you don't have to go after a person directly to help them learn a lesson, Kyle. Unless you want me to go after Stan again, I'd suggest that you keep his name out of your mind when I'm inside you." He kissed Kyle's forehead, gently. "You belong to me; you said so yourself. Now act like it."

*****


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: sexual assault.
> 
> This story is quickly becoming something I really hadn't anticipated at the beginning. I'm not sure if I should apologize or what. Hopefully, someone out there likes it, lol. 
> 
> I promise we're getting close to the end, it's just taking longer than I thought it would.

**Why does a wise man take leave of his senses?**  
 **Where is that fine line where sanity melts?**  
 **When does intelligence give way to madness?**  
 **A moment comes**  
 **when a man becomes**  
 **something else ...**  
  
**I need to know**  
 **why man plays this strange double game!**  
 **His hand always close to the flame!**  
 **It's a deal with the devil he cannot disclaim!**  
 **But what's his aim?**  
 **I need to know!**

  **-Jekyll and Hyde - I Need to Know**

 

* * *

 

"You're finally starting to look better. How do you feel?"

Kyle considered this question for a moment, fiddling with a bottle of water. He was sitting in the middle of what he called his sick nest; his blankets piled around him with books, homework, his laptop, and pretty much anything else he needed strewn about. He'd been home from the hospital for a couple days, and had been out of school for the entire week.

"I feel okay, all things considered," Kyle replied, glancing at his prescription bottles on the nightstand. He'd been discharged with a fuck-ton of antibiotics and instructions to rest and push fluids as much as possible. "I'm still pretty tired most of the time."

"When are you coming back to school?" Kenny asked, shifting around in the beanbag chair on the floor. He had stopped by to visit on his way home from school, having not seen Kyle since his last day in the hospital. "Stan's kind of wandering around looking lost and confused without you there."

A pang of guilt struck Kyle, remembering the vicious, horrible things Mark had said to Stan in the hospital.

"Oh?" He asked, trying to appear casual while inside his heart was aching for Stan.

Kenny nodded, stretching out his legs. "He's there but he's not there at the same time, if that makes any sense." He gave Kyle a pointed look. "Mark, on the other hand, is walking around like he fucking owns the place. It's pretty nauseating, actually."

Feeling uncomfortable, Kyle leaned back against the wall and pulled the hood of his sweater over his head. He wasn't surprised to hear this bit of information, and he'd noticed the good mood Mark had been in since going head to head with Stan. He was truly in his element when he was controlling the situation, even if it meant stepping over the bodies of other people.

"Where is he, anyway?" Kenny asked. "I thought for sure he'd be here and I'd get the chance to fuck with him. I'm kind of disappointed."

"He's at tutoring," Kyle replied. "He did say that he'd be dropping by on his way home to give me my homework, though."

"Naturally," Kenny said, rolling his eyes. "I imagine he's been by every day, right?"

"Yeah, but it's been nice having him bring me my work. Now I won't fall behind."

"Right." Kenny lapsed into silence for a moment. "What's the deal between you guys, Kyle? What's really going on?"

Kyle sighed, knowing he had to come clean sooner or later. Besides, it was hard dealing with all of Mark's insanity without having someone to confide in, especially after he'd annihilated Stan to the point where he barely responded to Kyle's texts.

"Well, um, I'm not really sure how to even get into this," Kyle said. "It's kind of a lot."

"You guys are clearly together," Kenny said, crossing his arms and nodding his head. "But it's more than that, Kyle. You've changed. A lot. You're always with Mark, and when you're not with him, it's like he's still there."

"I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"Yes, you do. You defer to him over everything. I mean, this is just an outsider's perspective so take it with a grain of salt, but it's starting to seem like you can't even make a move without getting his permission first."

The truth was right there in his words, but Kyle would never admit it to himself, and he sure as hell wasn't going to admit it to Kenny, either. Rather, he went on the defensive.

"That's an interesting interpretation of the situation, Kenny. It's completely wrong, but it's interesting, at least. Where do you even get this stuff?"

"Oh, I don't know, Kyle. Maybe it's because after only a couple months he's managed to become a part of everything you do. He broke you and Stan up, which is crazy enough, but on top of that you're constantly together. You eat together during lunch, I'm pretty sure you have almost every class together, too, and if I see you in the hallway he's like, right fucking there. And that's on top of you two hanging out after school all the time. He never gives you any space."

"We're friends," Kyle said, lamely.

Kenny looked at Kyle like he had lost his mind, which he was starting to think he had; somewhere in the midst of all of the chaos.

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with being friends with Mark, dude," Kenny said, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, I seriously don't get the appeal because he's fucking weird, but this isn't normal. He's not treating you like you guys are friends. Think about it, he's slowly managing to come between you and everyone else. Haven't you noticed?"

"That isn't true," Kyle protested. "I went to your party just last week, and I saw pretty much everyone there."

"Yeah, but Mark was on top of you the whole goddamn night! Kyle, why are you refusing to see this situation clearly?"

"I'm not refusing, I just don't agree with you. Kenny, Mark is a really decent person. Sure, he has his quirks, but doesn't everyone else?" Kyle stood from the bed and started pacing, even though his body was still sore and tired from being sick. He was restless, though, and he wanted to be moving. He was getting completely sick of being cooped up in his house; he was tired of being an invalid. "He took care of me when I was really sick. Christ, he even carried me to his car and took me to the hospital. He advocated for me when I was too out of it to even think clearly. Does a bad person do that?"

Kenny was quiet for a moment, his face thoughtful.

"I don't think he's a completely bad person, Kyle. I don't see people in shades of black or white. I know that there's a lot of gray area when it comes to people and their motivations, but I just think you need to be careful. Mark may just be really, really good at covering up his decent traits, but he clearly operates a lot differently from you. Or anyone else I've ever met, for that matter. He just seems to make up his own rules as he goes along, and he doesn't care if it ends up hurting other people."

"How could you even know something like that? This is all conjecture, isn't it?" Kyle turned to face him, his hand on his dresser steadying himself. He was already starting to feel exhaustion crawling over him.

"This may surprise you, but I hear and see a lot because I mind my own business. I didn't even need to really ask around to figure this shit out because people are constantly talking. I heard about what he said to Tweek and Craig at Harbucks, Kyle. That was fucking weird. You don't just go up to people and say crap like that; I don't care how angry you are. Not to mention the fact that he's constantly bullying that Kevin kid."

Kyle looked at him, startled. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, you didn't know about that?" Kenny's face became grim. "Dude, Mark is always messing with that kid. Just the other day I saw him push Kevin into some lockers, but then he acted like it was an accident." He looked Kyle in the eyes. "Kyle, it wasn't an accident. He did it deliberately. And there's some pretty nasty rumors going around about Kevin, too. Something about him having an STD or whatever. That guy is being dragged through the mud."

"That makes no sense, though. Why would he go out of his way to mess with Kevin?" Kyle asked, even though he knew the answer, he just didn't want to accept it. It was cruel, even for Mark.

"Now you're deliberately sticking your head in the sand, Kyle," Kenny said, starting to sound irritated. "The dude is going out with Mark's sister, and everyone knows that Mark's just as obsessed with her as he is with you." He stood and ran a hand through his messy hair.

"You aren't leaving already, are you?" Kyle asked, not wanting him to go. It'd been so long since he'd just hung out and talked to one of his friends.

"I'm meeting up with Butters at the movies," Kenny shrugged, picking up his bag. "Did you want to come along? It's been forever since we went anywhere without that psychopath."

Kyle shook his head. "I'm still too tired to go anywhere, and besides, Mark is-"

"Stopping by. Yeah, I know," Kenny cut him off. "And yet you're still refusing to see the forest for the trees."

"Give it a rest, Kenny."

"Hey, I'm just trying to help. I don't have anything to gain from this situation, Kyle. I'm just worried about you, and because I'm your friend," he looked at Kyle, emphasizing "friend" as he said it, "you know, an actual friend, I want to make sure you'll be okay."

"Well, I appreciate that, dude, but I'm fine. Everything is fine, okay?"

"Ugh, whatever," Kenny replied, making his way toward the door. "Hit me up tomorrow if you're feeling better. Maybe we can go do something."

"Sure. Hey, Kenny?"

"Yeah?"

"Say hi to Stan for me, okay? I mean, if he's working tonight."

"Will do." Kenny left but Kyle couldn't help but notice the sadness that passed over his face in that last moment. Trying to ignore it, Kyle went back to his bed and crawled into his nest, mulling over the things that Kenny had said.

******

"Kyle, what would you like to drink?" Dr. Cotswolds asked, holding a glass of sherry.

"He'll take some of the chardonnay," Mark said, already pulling a wine glass out of a cabinet. "You like that kind of wine, right, Kyle?"

Kyle nodded, looking around the room. Rebecca had gone all out with the decorations, and soft, silver garland was strung along the walls with twinkling white lights. Blue and white snowflakes hung everywhere, giving the kitchen a surreal quality, and a tiny Christmas tree was sitting on the counter, covered in miniature ornaments and multicolored lights. When Mark had told him that he was invited for Christmas dinner, Kyle had had a feeling that it was going to be festive.

The members of the Cotswolds family were looking festive, too. Rebecca was wearing a slinky silver dress with a surprisingly modest neckline, though the gown still dipped low in the back. Her accessories were simple, and she wore only tiny diamond studs in her ears; her hair pulled into a chignon with curls escaping in front of her ears. Dr. Cotswolds had opted for the little black dress ensemble, her skirt falling right above her knees. She wore her hair loose and had black kitten heels on her feet. The most dramatic part of her look were her red, ruby lips that shimmered from the lights adorning the walls.

Mark was dressed in a dark, charcoal suit with a slim deep blue tie that he wore a little loose around his neck. He had his glasses on and Kyle was having a hard time concentrating on his drink as he stole looks at him every now and then. He felt so awkward in his own black suit because he knew he didn't look even half as handsome as Mark. Chestnut highlights in Mark's hair caught the lights, and Kyle's heart started beating faster in his chest; taken aback by even the smallest details in Mark's appearance.

Mark glanced over and noticed Kyle staring before he could turn away, and he frowned.

"Is something wrong? You keep staring at me." He took a sip of his cabernet.

Kyle shook his head, embarrassed. "I just think you look nice."

He smiled. "Well, I think you look nice, too." Mark looked around. "If my house weren't full of people I'd bend you over the counter here, and...," he trailed off, his eyebrows raised.

Kyle blushed. "God, keep your voice down! Someone might hear you and then I'm pretty sure I'd just have to die."

Mark waved away his concern. "Nobody's listening to us, and besides, I don't give a shit what that moron thinks." He pointed behind Kyle, who turned to see who he was referring to.

Kevin was standing there, talking and laughing with Rebecca. He had declined the offer of alcohol and was drinking a Pellegrino instead, the bottle looking out of place in his hand. Kevin was wearing an ill-fitting suit and Kyle couldn't help but notice that he kept tugging at the collar of his shirt.

"Oh, leave him alone, Mark. They're having fun," Kyle said, smiling to see Rebecca looking so content. She rested a hand on Kevin's arm and leaned close to him, laughing at something he'd said.

"He's not good enough for her," Mark scoffed. "I mean, look at his suit. You'd think this was the first time he ever wore one."

"Stop being a snob. Who cares what his clothes look like? He's making Rebecca happy and that's the most important thing."

"She isn't happy," Mark replied, taking another sip of wine. "She's just slumming again. Becky does this on occasion when she's feeling bored, but this has been going on for way too long."

Kyle looked at his drink uneasily, thinking about the rumors that were still going around school. They were tearing Kevin to shreds daily, and they ranged from saying that he had sexually transmitted diseases to him being barely literate. Glancing at Mark, he saw the rage in his eyes that was always associated with Kevin, and Kyle could only hope that he didn't have anything to do with the filth being passed around.

At that moment, Rebecca looked away from Kevin and caught Kyle's eye. She smiled and walked over, dragging Kevin along with her.

"You look so nice, Kyle," she said, wrapping her arm around one of Kevin's. "You clean up nice!" She glanced at Mark and frowned a little. "So do you, I guess."

Mark just grunted and took another drink.

Ignoring his sullen attitude, Rebecca turned her focus back on Kyle. "You know, I have a present for you under the tree, Kyle. I wanted to wait a little bit but I'm too excited so I'd like to give it to you now."

"A present? For me? You didn't have to do that," Kyle replied, surprised.

"I know. Just consider it a late Hanukkah present, okay? Mark, you'll take care of Kevin while Kyle and I go in the living room, right?"

Mark gave Kevin a look of utter distaste. "If I have to."

Kevin just wilted a little, and he glanced at Rebecca with nervous eyes. She frowned.

"Get over yourself long enough to at least pretend to be a good host, okay? Come on, Kyle." Rebecca took hold of Kyle's hand and pulled him toward the living room.

Kyle looked back at Mark and cringed on Kevin's behalf. Mark was looking at him like he was a bug he wanted to smash under his shoe. When they made it to the living room, Rebecca let go of Kyle's hand and went to the tree where she plucked up a package wrapped in bright green paper; an ornate red bow on top.

"Here," she said, putting it in Kyle's hands. "I hope you like it."

"Uh, I'm sure I will," Kyle said, still getting used to the idea that she'd bought him a present. Ripping the paper off, he opened the box and lifted out a brand new green ushanka.

"I noticed that your old hat was getting a little worn," she smiled. "So I got you this one. It's the most expensive one I could find, so hopefully it was worth the money. Here, try it on."

Kyle put the hat on his head, marveling at how soft the material was, and he could tell it was of a much higher quality than he was used to. "I love it," he finally said.

"It's faux fur, so don't worry about that," she remarked. After she studied him for a moment she nodded her head, seemingly satisfied with what she saw. "It looks really good on you, Kyle."

He removed the hat and looked at it, admiring the material and how intricately it had been made. "Rebecca, you really didn't need to buy me anything."

"Yes, I did," she said, and her tone surprised Kyle. "I know I put you in an awkward position with Mark when I told you not to say anything about Kevin. That wasn't right, and I'm sorry. I'd like to think that we're friends and friends don't treat each other like that."

"Oh, it wasn't that bad," Kyle replied, trying to find something to say in the wake of this unexpected apology.

She shook her head. "Kyle, I know my brother better than anyone. You can't fool me." Rebecca looked into his eyes and he saw something in them that gave him pause, but he couldn't put his finger on it. There was knowledge in them; a dark understanding that disturbed Kyle. "Mark will always be completely himself, and over the years I've just tried to live with it. But, now," she said, a dreamy look coming over her face. "Now I have Kevin, and I feel so much better. I feel normal."

Kyle nodded, forgetting himself for a moment.

"That's how Stan made me feel," he said.

"And now?" She asked, gently.

He shrugged. "Everything changed before I realized it was happening."

"Mark is good at making things happen before you realize it," she said, nodding. She touched his hand. "Are you happy with my brother, at least?"

Kyle couldn't answer that question for a moment, mainly because he'd never really thought about it. Unsure, he answered slowly and carefully.

"I think so," he answered. "I'm still trying to get to know him."

Rebecca laughed. "I've known him for seventeen years, Kyle, and even I don't know him; not really. I've been beside him since the womb and he's still a mystery to me." She looked at Kyle and her eyes were suddenly so full of sadness that he couldn't stand to look at them.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

"Yes, of course," she replied, shaking her head. Her hazel eyes cleared and then Kyle could only see the Christmas lights reflected in them. "So, can I consider my present a success?"

"Absolutely," Kyle said. "It's perfect."

****

"Well, that was certainly interesting," Mark said with disdain, as he loosened the tie around his neck and tossed it aside.

"I had fun," Kyle said, sitting on Mark's bed and admiring his new ushanka.

"Yeah, because you didn't have to deal with Rebecca's insufferable boyfriend," Mark replied, saying the word 'boyfriend' like it filled his mouth with poison.

Kyle had had more than enough of this same conversation. He groaned. "Can we please talk about something else? I like Kevin, so I'm not going to join in as you bash him."

"Whatever. He'll be gone soon enough. I made sure to take care of that this evening, so I'm just biding my time at this point," Mark commented, his voice satisfied.

"What do you mean?" Kyle looked at him, suspicious at his change in tone. He rested the hat in his lap, momentarily forgotten.

"Don't worry about that, Kyle. You're clearly bored with this subject, so I'll let it go for now." Mark picked up the hat from Kyle's lap and looked at it. "Rebecca spent a lot on this, I can tell. Why did she buy you a present, anyway?"

"She said it was to make up for putting me in a weird position with you, actually. About Kevin," he cringed, hating to bring him up again when Mark had just agreed to let Kevin go.

Mark put the hat back on Kyle's lap and groaned. "She's so dramatic. I barely even punished you for that." He walked away, continuing to undress.

Kyle thought back to the handcuffs and the spanking he'd endured that night, and the butt plug that had opened him up to an almost unbearable extent. He had felt pretty punished at the time, regardless of what Mark thought. Mark came over to Kyle as he was lost in thought and he lifted his chin to look into Kyle's eyes.

"Besides, you liked it. Didn't you?" He smirked. "Fucking you that night was a lot more interesting than the sex we've had lately. I'm just glad you're finally better so we can get back to normal."

Flushing, Kyle's head was filled with memories of the last time they'd had sex, and he felt ashamed even though they'd already done so much together. Mark had stopped by his house after school to give Kyle his homework, and he'd glanced around his room, his face taking on a new interest.

"What is it?" Kyle had asked, looking through the homework Mark had brought him.

"I was just thinking," Mark had said, glancing at Kyle with excited eyes. "I wonder what it would be like to fuck in your bed this time."

"We can't do that, Mark. My mom is right downstairs, and Ike is down the hall." Kyle had set his homework aside, uneasiness growing inside of him.

A click could be heard in the silent room as Mark locked the door. He had glanced at Kyle and smiled slowly.

"No, Mark. We can't," Kyle said as Mark had advanced on him, his eyes those of a predator's.

Mark had taken hold of Kyle's wrists and nudging his stuff aside, had laid him back against the bed. He'd shushed Kyle as he kept protesting, finally kissing him to silence him completely. When they broke apart, Kyle was still not having it.

"I can't do this, Mark," he said. "My mom would kill me if she knew what we were doing, and what if Ike knocks on the door? No, just stop."

Instead of listening, Mark had started nudging Kyle's pajama pants down as he held his wrists fast above his head. Kyle had struggled but he was still weak from being sick, so Mark easily overpowered him.

"Don't worry, okay? I won't be rough this time. It'll be like the night before we went to the hospital," Mark had murmured, pulling Kyle's pants down enough so he could nudge his knee in between his thighs, spreading them.

"No, stop!" Kyle said, his voice starting to become a little louder. He didn't dare yell because he didn't want his family to hear him and come knocking at the door. "I don't want to have sex, Mark. Not here, okay? It's wrong to do it in my house; my mom trusts us."

Mark had laughed softly. "I wouldn't worry about your mom right now, Kyle. She likes me so much I'm pretty sure I could do whatever I wanted to you in her house and she'd be just fine with it." He was still holding Kyle's arms above his head as he licked his hand, and his fingers were preparing him.

"Please!" Kyle said, throwing his head back and arching his body as Mark's fingers entered him. He'd thrashed around, but Mark steadied him like he would a frightened animal, and he'd continued to open him up with his artful touch.

"Just be quiet and relax," he'd said after awhile, as he started to push his cock inside of Kyle, who was moist and ready and oh so warm. "I can't wait anymore, Kyle. It's been too long."

Kyle had turned his face away, hot tears sliding down his face and soaking his pillow. Eventually, his body had started to respond to Mark even as his mind continued to fight. Mark had been thrusting into him for only a few minutes when he started to protest again, not willing to stay quiet.

"Stop, Mark," he'd gasped in between Mark pushing his cock into his body in rhythmic movements. "I don't want to do this. Stop," he said, and when Mark didn't listen, Kyle said it again, but louder. "Stop!"

Mark's grip on Kyle's wrists tightened until he almost screamed, and his other hand pushed against Kyle's mouth, silencing him completely. Mark had continued to fuck Kyle, even as his tears kept flowing and he yelled behind Mark's hand, begging him to stop. Finally, he did stop, but only because he was finishing, and his hot come filled up Kyle until it spilled out of him and onto his comforter. He'd kept his hand pressed against Kyle's lips as he slowly pumped into him, his come still spurting into Kyle until he was finally done. He'd pulled his hand away and kissed Kyle's swollen lips that were salty because of his tears.

"I'll never get enough of you," he'd said, licking away Kyle's tears even as he continued to cry. "Never."

\----------

These memories, still vivid and painful, flashed in Kyle's mind that night as Mark fucked him again and again. They'd had to take a break while Kyle was recuperating, and this hiatus had seemed to fill Mark with an insatiable need to possess Kyle's body again. Through the course of that night, Mark had twisted Kyle into every position he could imagine, even tying him up so his legs were splayed open so he couldn't close them; making it so Mark could enter him easily and without having to prepare him as much as usual. The collar was dark against Kyle's white skin as his throat pulsed and he exposed his neck. Mark had put it on him at the beginning, signaling that he wanted to be rough with Kyle that night.

He came inside of Kyle more times than he could count, and every time he finished he had whispered in Kyle's ear that he was his, and he'd always be his; forever. Kyle dissolved under this onslaught until he couldn't tell where his body ended and Mark's began, but he didn't fight, and he didn't protest like he had in his bedroom. He accepted that Mark would always get what he wanted, no matter what. As the sun had crested over the mountains in the distance, and its light flooded into the room, signifying the coming morning, Kyle was gasping as Mark entered him again, his arms bound behind his back and his legs still tied open. They had fucked all night, and Kyle was so exhausted that he could barely form a coherent thought.

"Please, I can't," he'd said, sleepily, as Mark lazily thrust inside of him, the stickiness of Kyle's opening filling the room with a moist, rhythmic noise. "Mark, I'm so tired."

Mark had kissed Kyle's neck and chest, reveling in the fragile construction of his body. He was so small, frail really, and he could do whatever he wanted with him. No matter how much Kyle protested, Mark could override his resistance and possess him again. It seemed like Mark was starting to think of Kyle as a drug, and he was addicted, completely, and no matter what, he would get another fix.

"I'm almost done," Mark had said, his hips rocking forward as he continued to fuck Kyle softly. He admired the way Kyle's head drooped on the pillow and he knew that Kyle was telling the truth about his exhaustion. There was something immensely satisfying about seeing someone exhausted from being fucked for hours; their face flushed from desire and exertion. The thought made him groan and he was pouring inside of Kyle again, but he was already so full that the come dripped almost entirely on the sheets.

Afterward, Mark had held Kyle close as he dozed, and he'd broken the quiet of the room when he finally spoke.

"I don't know what's happening to me, Kyle."

Kyle swam up through his fatigue to answer.

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. I don't feel like myself anymore."

"Hmm," Kyle replied, too tired to really say anything else.

"What does being in love really feel like?" Mark asked.

Kyle's eyes shot open at this question. Somehow, he found the strength to try and answer, even though his brain was too tired to barely function.

"For me, love is just this overwhelming need to be with this other person, and you want to make sure they're happy." He thought a moment. "You just want to be with them all the time, and the thought of being with them is enough to keep you going."

Mark was silent as he mulled this over.

"Is that how you feel about me?" He finally asked, his voice more subdued than Kyle had ever heard it.

"I'm starting to feel that way, Mark. I have to admit that there are things that you do that trouble me, though," Kyle replied, thinking of Mark pushing him down on his bed, and he wondered frantically if that was rape. Could you be raped by someone you thought you were in love with? "I told you that I think I'm falling in love with you."

Silence fell on them, and Kyle waited with baited breath; fully awake now.

"I want to be with you all the time, too," Mark said, his voice gruff. "I hate when you're away from me, and I feel like I could kill anyone that came between us. Like Stan. I kind of want to kill him, so he'll never be something I have to worry about."

Kyle started at his words. "You can't do that, Mark. That isn't even an option."

"I know, but I still think about it. A lot." He wrapped his arms around Kyle tighter and crushed him to his chest. "Just say that you won't go anywhere and I'll do everything I can to make you happy. Okay? Hell, I'll even take you to that dance next month."

Kyle smiled. "Like a real date?"

"Like a real date."

"Are you sure that's what you want to do?"

"It is, but can you promise that you won't leave me, Kyle?" Mark's voice was different; not as tender.

"Mark, I can't promise something like that. I have no idea what the future is going to be like," Kyle replied, laughing a little. He wanted Mark to lighten up a little; he wasn't used to him being so open with his feelings.

Mark's fingers gripped Kyle's skin and he gasped from pain. "I think you know that you're already in this too far, Kyle. You shouldn't have started all of this if you weren't prepared to finish it."

"I didn't say I was going anywhere, I just don't have any idea what's going to happen," Kyle said, trying to stay focused as Mark's fingers dug into his flesh. "Mark, I love you. I don't want to leave you."

Mark breathed deeply, and his grip relaxed. He kissed Kyle's temple softly.

"I don't think I could handle it if I couldn't hold you like this."

*****


	20. Chapter 20

 

 

**Now there's gravel in our voices**  
**Glass is shattered from the fight**  
**In this tug of war, you'll always win**  
**Even when I'm right**  
**'Cause you feed me fables from your hand**  
**With violent words and empty threats**  
**And it's sick that all these battles**  
**Are what keeps me satisfied**

**Just gonna stand there and watch me burn**  
**But that's all right because I like the way it hurts**  
**Just gonna stand there and hear me cry**  
**But that's all right because I love the way you lie**  
**I love the way you lie**  
**Oh, I love the way you lie**

 

**-Love the Way You Lie, Rihanna**

 

********

  
Kyle wasn't sure how it was possible, but ever since he'd gone to Mark's home for Christmas dinner and they'd spent the entire night having sex, Mark was even more preoccupied with him than before. It would seem that his early morning inquiries on the night of the dinner had been almost a portent of what was to come, and Kyle found himself getting even more lost in the whole affair. Mark had even insisted that Kyle have a set of keys to his house, as they'd taken to spending almost every weekend together. Mark wanted to make sure Kyle never had an issue getting into the house if he couldn't be there to let him in.

"Just go up to my room and wait for me if I'm not here. That way you don't even have to knock and bother with Janice," he'd said, smiling.

They were in the midst of the winter break from school and after Kyle's illness earlier in the month, his mother had put her foot down and insisted that he put all of his extracurricular activities on hold. The only thing she was willing to let him do was tutoring, and that was mainly because Mark was there to keep an eye on Kyle.

What Mrs. Broflovski didn't realize was that Mark was already keeping a very close watch over her son, and it seemed like there wasn't anything Kyle could do that Mark didn't become aware of sooner or later. Kyle regarded Mark's constant presence in his life as innocuous of course, but it was getting tiring having to assuage his feelings every time there was a misunderstanding. Mark had a habit of jumping to negative conclusions, and not for the first time, Kyle could see just how naturally suspicious he was.

They were laying in Mark's bed after having sex and Kyle was still panting from exertion, his skin flushed and bruised where Mark had gripped him. Bruises on his skin were so typical now that Kyle didn't give them much thought anymore, even though Mark had a habit of running his hands over them whenever he saw Kyle naked. It was like he was admiring his handiwork, the physical reminders that he was the only one touching Kyle like this, and it would remain that way indefinitely if he had anything to say about it.

Kyle was surprised to see night already falling outside the windows, and he realized that they had had sex for the entire afternoon. Mark gathered Kyle into his arms after they'd cleaned up a little, and he was idly stroking Kyle's collar when he spoke, breaking the comfortable silence in the room.

"So, you met up with Stan, huh?"

Shifting a little in Mark's embrace, Kyle thought a moment, confused.

"Did I tell you about that?"

"No, you didn't, but this is a small town, Kyle. Everybody talks. Besides, you guys cut class so you have to figure someone was going to notice."

It was true that he and Stan had cut English the day before winter break was set to start, opting instead to walk over to Harbucks and get a coffee. Kyle hadn't really been too concerned with missing class that day, mostly due to the fact that they never did anything of significance right before a break.

"Yeah, we just talked."

"About?" Mark's arms tightened around him a little.

Clearing his throat, Kyle knew he needed to tread carefully.

"Just stuff that's been going on. You know, we haven't really talked very much since you eviscerated Stan at the hospital."

"Don't be so dramatic. I just told him that we're in a relationship and he needs to back off."

Kyle sat up, managing to break away from Mark's hold on him.

"That is not what you told him, Mark! And I still can't believe you offered to send that filthy picture to him. That was just needlessly cruel." He thought a moment. "I'd really prefer that you get rid of it, actually. I don't feel comfortable knowing you're carrying around a phone that has a picture of me like that on it."

"No way. I'm keeping that picture, and all the others, too." Mark rolled over, grabbing his glasses from the nightstand; he slipped them on.

"What do you mean, and 'all the others?'"

Mark shrugged.

"You don't really think I only have one picture of you, do you? Jesus, I have a lot."

Kyle could feel himself blanching.

"You aren't serious."

"Kyle, you're getting off topic. What did you and Stan talk about, and on that token, why the fuck didn't you tell me you that you two went out?"

"Because of the way you're reacting right now! You blow everything out of proportion, especially where Stan is involved." Kyle sat back against the pillows and now he was rubbing the collar around his throat; he'd almost forgotten it was there. "If you really need to know the specifics, I basically apologized to Stan on your behalf. It was bad enough that you told him about that picture, but to go into lurid details about our sex life...Mark, that was supremely fucked up."

"No, what's fucked up is that you know how much your being around Stan bothers me, Kyle, and you still snuck off to see him."

"I didn't sneak off, Mark. Stan is my friend and I needed to talk to him; to clean up your mess, might I add."

Mark took a deep breath and Kyle could see he was trying to keep a handle on his anger. His heartbeat sped up, but he knew they needed to have this conversation; it had been a long time coming.

"Kenny was right, you are trying to keep me from really talking to people. Aren't you?" Kyle asked, quietly.

"Kenny? You're actually listening to the bullshit that he spews out? What the fuck is wrong with you, Kyle? That asshole doesn't know anything about us but you're going to let his comments cloud your judgement?"

"I think my judgement is already pretty clouded because I'm in the situation, Mark. And you're so good at twisting situations to make them seem one way when they very well may be something completely different." Kyle shook his head. "Sometimes I don't even know what to think."

"Then why are you listening to someone who has no fucking clue what's going on? He doesn't know anything about me, Kyle. If you need to know something about me why don't you just ask? Christ, you'd think I'd know myself better than anyone else." Mark stood up and started pacing. "You see? This is exactly why I can't believe you're friends with these people. They just fill your head with bullshit and then I have to straighten it out."

"But I can't just not talk to my friends, Mark! I've been friends with them for my entire life and I'm not just going to cut them off because you want me to!"

"I'm not telling you to cut them off!" Mark yelled, his raised voice startling Kyle. Walking over, he grabbed Kyle by the shoulders and started shaking him hard. "I'm just telling you not to listen to every fucking thing they say! And if you're going to go out with Stan, I want to fucking know about it before you go!"

Mark continued to shake Kyle until he was almost crying, and he begged him to stop.

"I'm sorry," he gasped, a headache starting to pulse in his temples. "I'm sorry! Just stop!"

When he finally let go, Mark was breathing heavily and his eyes were wild. Running his hands through his hair, he looked at Kyle in total disbelief.

"Kyle, I can't believe I just did that. Are you okay?" He went to sit beside him but frowned when he saw Kyle cringe away.

"I-I'm fine," Kyle said, his voice shaky. "You just surprised me."

Reluctantly, he allowed Mark to hug him close again, but Kyle didn't put his arms around him. He tried to stay as still as possible, trembling.

"I just want to know what's going on with you, Kyle," Mark said in a low, husky voice. "I don't like it when you keep things from me. I just want to make sure you're okay."

"I know, I just don't understand why you won't listen to me about Stan," Kyle murmured, his heartbeat finally slowing down as he relaxed in Mark's arms. "I care about Stan but not like I care about you, Mark. You need to believe me."

"I want to but it's so hard," Mark replied, and he kissed Kyle's cheek, his forehead, until he finally settled on his lips. After a moment, he was kissing him more deeply, and he slipped his tongue inside Kyle's mouth when he finally started to respond. "Didn't I tell you that I'd even be willing to kill him if I had to? Did you think I was kidding?"

Kyle froze and pulled back. "Mark, you need to stop saying things like that. That shit terrifies me, okay? Why do you always have to take things to a level they don't need to go?"

"Maybe because I know other people aren't willing to," Mark said, drawing him close again. "Other people are afraid to actually go after the things they want. I'm not."

Then Mark was kissing Kyle again, his mouth aggressive and insistent, until Kyle was moaning deep in his throat and gladly reciprocating. Before Kyle knew it, Mark was pushing him back onto the bed and he was preparing to fuck him again. He was already so sore but he surrendered completely, gasping when Mark was inside him again.

This time Mark didn't say that Kyle belonged to him as he finished. He didn't need to; the truth and reality were written all over Kyle's skin.

*****

After their run-in over Stan, Kyle had spent almost the entire winter break with Mark. They spent the days going out to Harbucks or wherever the mood took them, and the nights were spent in Mark's bed, where his insatiable sexual appetite never seemed to wane. Kyle mentioned at one point that he thought Mark might be a nymphomaniac or something, but Mark waved that away.

"You've said that before, Kyle, and that isn't the case. I don't want to just have sex with anyone; I want to have sex with you." He pulled Kyle down on his lap and kissed his throat. "I don't know why, but I just can't get enough of you."

"Whatever, you were just having sex with someone else a few weeks ago."

"Don't start, Kyle," Mark said, and Kyle let it go. He didn't want to argue about this subject again.

"Besides, I'm in the process of disentangling myself from this person. It's just taking longer than I thought."

"Hmm," Kyle replied, not wanting to go into excessive detail because what was the point? Kyle had to tell Mark absolutely everything, but that didn't mean Mark had to play by the same set of rules. It was pretty customary for him to tell Kyle only what he felt he should know.

They'd rung in the New Year by not only kissing, but fucking on the balcony as the fireworks raged across the sky when midnight struck. Under showers of blue and red and gold, Mark had bent Kyle across the railing and fucked him from behind; Kyle gasping as the shimmers from the fireworks shone on his hair.

As they lay in bed later that night, Kyle had scrolled through Facebook on his phone and couldn't help feeling hopelessly detached from the rest of the world. Pictures from the party Wendy had thrown that night were flooding his timeline, and he saw pictures of Kenny and Butters kissing with party hats on their heads and flutes of champagne raised to the ceiling in their hands. Tweek and Craig had captured the moment too, facing the camera with smiles on their faces and their cheeks pressed together. Kyle wasn't surprised not to see a picture of Stan on his timeline though; he'd gotten roped into working that night.

Mark leaned over and looked at Kyle's phone with disinterest until Kyle scrolled to reveal a picture of Rebecca and Kevin kissing beneath the fireworks. She was dressed in a short cerulean dress with a puffy skirt and silver high heals, her hair pulled into a high ponytail that trailed down her back. Her arms were wrapped around Kevin's neck as he dipped her back, a smile evident on her face as he kissed her under a million stars and the colorful explosions of the fireworks.

"Well, don't they look happy," Mark said, tensely.

Kyle shut off his phone and set it aside.

"Yes, they do," he replied. "Mark, let's not get into this again, okay? We've had a really nice night."

"I just can't understand why he's still fucking hanging around. Maybe I wasn't clear enough when I talked to him during the dinner," Mark said, laying his head back against the pillow. Kyle watched as Mark stared at the ceiling, his brow furrowed. He didn't seem as angry as Kyle thought he would be, but that didn't mean anything. Mark was starting to make it pretty clear that he was capable of almost anything.

"It's like you're constantly fighting this war against the world," Kyle commented. "You know, everyone isn't against you, Mark. Kevin being with Rebecca isn't taking anything from you."

"I'm not at war with everyone, Kyle; don't be melodramatic." He put his arms behind his head and rested against them. "But if I were, I wouldn't be opposed to fighting dirty. I mean, what's a war without a few casualties?"

*****

School started up again, and after a couple days back Kyle finally felt like he was starting to get back to something that resembled his old routine. After being sick and dealing with the holidays, he felt like he'd never get back to normal. Or at least as normal as things could be with Mark in the picture.

His mom had even consented to let him go back to interning at the urology office, but she said that that and tutoring were the only extra things she really wanted Kyle doing until she felt he was truly better. As a result, he found himself with a lot of extra time on his hands now that he wasn't allowed to volunteer like he was doing before, so he poured his attention into schoolwork and extra credit; and Mark too, of course. It wasn't like Mark was giving him any other option in that regard. He didn't complain, though. Mark had his moments but when he was sweet he made Kyle feel happier than anyone else in the world.

Everything seemed to be settling down until one sunny Saturday morning in mid-January. It had snowed the night before and the world outside Mark's windows was covered in white, the bright winter sun catching the sparkles in its surface with an unparalleled brilliance. Kyle and Mark were getting dressed after leisurely waking up and having slow, sleepy morning sex, when someone started pounding on the door violently. They weren't knocking so much as they were clearly trying to beat the door down.

"Mark, you better open up this fucking door right now! I know you're in there!" A voice screamed, and Kyle recognized it as belonging to Rebecca.

Kyle looked at Mark, terrified, but Mark was nonplussed and unruffled as he finished dressing and made his way to the door. Straightening the collar of his shirt, he unlocked the door and started to turn the knob. Before he could, Rebecca was barrelling through, pushing Mark aside in her obvious fury. Kyle sat on the bed, trying to make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible.

Rebecca caught Kyle's eye for a fraction of a second before she rounded on Mark, her face so contorted with rage that Kyle barely recognized her.

"What the fuck did you say to him, Mark? Huh? What did you say to him?!" Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides, and even from across the room Kyle could see she was shaking.

Mark regarded her calmly.

"What did I say to whom?" He asked.

She laughed a little, and it was a sound of utter disbelief and frustration.

"Don't play stupid, you asshole. You know exactly who I'm talking about. Now, tell me, what did you say to him? What?"

"I'm still not sure what you're talking about," he replied. Mark sat on the chair in front of his desk and looked at her, his head propped on his hand.

"You said something to Kevin, Mark! You said something and now he's broken up with me, and I want to know what it was! What did you do?" She was still screaming but now there were tears mixing in with her rage; and they coursed down her face in pitiful little rivers.

At her words, Kyle turned to Mark in shock. Mark actively avoided looking at him, though; his focus settled entirely on his sister.

"Oh, that," he said, sitting back against the chair and steepling his fingers together in front of his face. "I just told him what he needed to know, Becky."

She stared at him, her eyes wide. Rage had put bright red color in her cheeks, and her hazel eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"You didn't," she said, faintly.

"Not in so many words, but I took care of this situation the way it needed to be handled."

"How could you do that?" She backed up until her legs hit the bed, and she sat. Her hands rested beside her, no longer clenched. "Mark, how could you do that to me? I was happy with him!"

"Oh, no you weren't," Mark said, rolling his eyes. "You don't even know what you want, but I can safely say that Kevin is not the answer."

"I know what I don't want," she seethed, the anger still present even though she was crying. Rebecca covered her face with her hands and cried until her body was wracked with sobs. Mark came over and rested a hand on her shoulder, but she shook him off like his touch burned her.

"Don't!" She said, her voice hitching.

Mark watched her coolly for a moment.

"You'll get over this soon enough, Becky. You played with your toy long enough and I discarded it for you. Sooner or later, you'll see that I was right."

"No, I won't," she said, softly before beginning to sob again. "The dance is next week and now I don't even have a date."

"God, is that what all of this is about? Just go with Wendy and the other girls, Becky. It's just a fucking dance, why do you even care?"

"I care because they'll have dates and I'll be alone - again. I'm always alone because of you and you don't even care!" She screamed. "You called Kevin a toy but that's not how I felt about him. That's how you feel about people! We're all just playthings that you can pick up and drop wherever you want! Why couldn't you just let me have this one thing?"

"Rebecca, I know what's best for you. I've always known what was best for you, and sometimes I have to make the hard decisions for you because you won't." Mark replied, his voice less casual now. Kyle had heard that voice before; those inflections. That voice always accompanied a punishment, and it had a harsh finality that made his blood run cold even though it wasn't directed towards him.

Rebecca glanced at Kyle and the same sadness that had been in her eyes after she'd given him his present beside the Christmas tree was back, but it was stronger now. In fact, he didn't think he'd ever seen someone look so wretched in his entire life. He tried to think of something to say to comfort her but he couldn't.

For a moment, it seemed like she was going to say something to Kyle but she didn't. Instead, she rose from the bed and pushed past Mark, running from the room; her long curls cascading down her back. Silence washed over them after she'd gone, and somewhere in the house a door could be heard being slammed shut. Kyle just stared at Mark soundlessly, unsure what to say. He never knew what to say after Mark had caused some sort of devastation.

"She'll be fine," he finally said, turning to Kyle. His eyes held the blank quality they acquired when he had detached from a situation, and in the sun pouring from the windows they were as empty as his reaction to his sister's misery.

****

"Mark, I don't know if it's a good idea for us to go the dance after what happened with Rebecca," Kyle said, looking in the mirror and adjusting his tie. "It doesn't seem fair."

Mark was buttoning the sleeves of his white dress shirt, and he frowned at Kyle.

"I already told you that Becky will be fine, Kyle. You should've seen her earlier today as she was getting ready. She was smiling and singing and acting like she didn't have a care in the world." He looped a wine red tie around his neck and began to knot it, his hands deft and sure. "I'm pretty sure she finally listened to me and just decided to go with some of her friends."

"Still," Kyle replied, regarding his reflection uneasily. "I seriously can't believe that you went out of your way to break them up."

"Kyle, I don't want to have this conversation again." Mark slid his suit jacket on, this one a light grey. "She's my sister and I'm only looking out for her, and that's all that needs to be said. So," he said, turning to Kyle. "How do I look?"

"Very handsome," Kyle said, a little sadly. A crazy thought crossed his mind in that moment; something about Lucifer being beautiful too, though he'd fallen from grace.

"Well, let's go," Mark said, holding out his arm to Kyle who reluctantly took it.

\------

"Did you want me to grab you something to drink?" Mark asked, practically having to shout over the volume of the music ringing through the gym.

"Sure," Kyle replied, clutching at Mark's arm as they walked through the crowd of people. The gym had been decorated in shades of blue, white, silver, and a shimmery grey; winter colors. Bunting was strung across the walls and silver multi-pointed stars and snowflakes hung down from the ceiling, and the little tables surrounded the dance floor had white tablecloths on them. Silver candle holders sat on each of the tables, the candles inside throwing light on the faces of happy couples drinking punch and chattering.

They found a table and Kyle sat, watching as Mark made his way through a sea of bodies toward the refreshment table. Looking around, he saw all of his friends dancing and mingling, and he felt as closed off from this situation as he had when he scrolled through the New Year's Eve pictures on his phone. Everyone looked so happy but Kyle didn't know if he could say the same for himself. He just couldn't seem to get a handle on his emotions these days, he'd noticed. He was either happy to almost a manic extent or he was terribly sad; if there was any in-between emotion he could name it would have to be a listless anxiety. Right now the anxiety had settled over him, and all he could do was watch as the candlelight bloomed on the walls and faces of his classmates, and listen as the music pulsed through the room.

Mark appeared holding two clear glasses of red punch that he sat on the table. Sitting down, he reached into his pocket and, looking around, slowly pulled a silver flask out. Kyle looked at it with faint surprise; of course Mark would bring alcohol to a school dance.

"Do you want some?" He asked, pouring whiskey into his glass of punch.

Kyle sighed and pushed his glass over, knowing that Mark would just talk him into drinking some anyway. He watched as Mark poured a shot into his glass and then slipped the flask back into his pocket. Mark took a long drink of punch and glanced around the room, his face mildly interested.

"Everything turned out pretty nice, actually," he commented, taking in the decorations. "Becky should be really proud; I know she put a lot of effort into all of this."

"Yeah," Kyle replied, sipping his punch. He grimaced at the taste of the whiskey but he ignored it.

"Are you okay?"

"I guess. I just don't want to talk about Rebecca and the dance. She was so excited about it and then she didn't even get to go with an actual date." Kyle set his drink down and pushed it away. Glancing around the room, he searched for Mark's sister. "I wonder where she is anyway."

Mark shrugged. "I don't know. She left way before us to help get things in order before everything started. She could be anywhere." He finished off the rest of his punch and regarded Kyle, his eyes lit up by the candlelight. Reaching a hand over, he rested it on top of Kyle's. "Can you please forget about all of that for tonight, at least? I mean, we're here together and it's like a real date, just like you wanted. Can't you at least be a little happy? I'm really trying here, Kyle."

Kyle smiled, despite himself, and laid his hand on top of Mark's.

"You're right, I'm sorry. I'm glad that you were actually willing to come with me." Loosening up a little, he picked up his punch and took another sip.

They sat in a comfortable silence for awhile, just taking in everything around them.

"Did you want to dance?" Mark asked.

"Really? You don't think it would be weird?" Kyle felt shy at the idea of dancing in front of everyone. The dance floor was filled with couples holding each other close as a slow song wafted through the air, but it was pretty much just guys and girls.

"Of course it wouldn't be weird. Just look at them," Mark said, pointing out at the floor. Kyle looked where he was pointing and saw Tweek and Craig wrapped in each other's arms, their bodies swaying together. They looked like they weren't just lost in the music, but in each other.

"Come on." Mark stood from the table and held out a hand to Kyle. Blushing, he took it, and allowed Mark to lead him out onto the floor, brushing past his classmates in formal wear; the whisper of gowns rustling and dress shoes tapping the floor filling his ears.

Mark pulled him close and Kyle dissolved into his arms, becoming intoxicated on Mark's earthy scent and on the self-assured way he led him around the dance floor. Kyle rested his cheek against his coat and allowed himself to become immersed in cliches that he never thought he could relate to in a million years. He wanted this moment to go on forever; the softness against his cheek, Mark's arms around him, the music surrounding them and pulling them into a dream. Kyle never wanted any of this to end, and in that moment, he was happy; not manic happy, just genuinely content and unafraid.

Before too long the dream had to end, and Kyle could feel Mark's body tensing against his own. Suddenly, Mark was pressing Kyle to his chest with such intensity that he could hardly breathe. Finally, he was able to pull away and look up at Mark's face, asking him what was wrong.

"I can't believe this," Mark whispered, his eyes locked on a point behind Kyle.

Kyle turned, and in a split second he saw exactly what had made Mark become so stricken and he gasped. Rebecca was on the dance floor in an ornate white gown, her hair drawn away from her face and piled on her head; white flowers adorning her head like a crown. She was swaying to the music, but she wasn't with one of her friends, nor was she alone.

She was with Stan.

****


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even i have to admit that shit is getting twisted.
> 
> If you have a delicate constitution I'd suggest you don't read any further.
> 
> And if you decide to proceed, well, buckle the fuck up, man, lmao xD

"How could she? How could she?"

This had become the refrain that filled the car as they drove through the night; Mark's mantra as he raced away from the school in shock and rage. Kyle was huddled against the door, not sure where they were going while trying to deal with the situation, too. In his mind's eye he could see Stan's arms around Rebecca's waist as they danced, and he could even remember the way the hem of her full skirt had brushed the floor. Stan had opened his eyes at one point, his face pressed against Rebecca's hair, and he'd locked eyes with Kyle, who could barely register what he was seeing.

Then he was being pulled through the crowd and out of the school, toward Mark's car waiting in the parking lot. He was being pushed into the front seat and then Mark was beside him, starting the car and driving away frantically. He'd stopped by his house briefly to grab a bottle of whiskey, but then they were off again, and he was driving toward an unknown destination. Kyle sat in his seat and watched the trees and sky flow by outside, and the stars were hopscotching the way they had the first night he'd spent with Mark. In that moment, it felt like that night was a million years ago, and he couldn't even think of himself as the same person.

Finally, they'd pulled down a long drive and Mark stopped the car in a huge field. When Kyle stepped out he'd looked around to see that it was a very open space, and the trees were far away against the horizon. The night sky opened up on top of him, and it was so immense that he thought he was being sucked up into it; sucked up into the infinity of the stars that burned worlds away. Mark came up beside him, holding the bottle of whiskey and knocking it back; drinking deeply. He'd pushed the bottle into Kyle's hands and instructed him to drink, and the look on his face told Kyle that he shouldn't protest, so he drank too.

They drank, passing the bottle back and forth, until the whiskey was almost gone, and Kyle was laying back against the hood of the car in a daze. The stars were really skittering across the sky now, and he kept thinking about the look on Stan's face when he'd looked at Kyle while holding Rebecca in his arms. He could've cried at the memory, but he knew that he wasn't allowed to. He'd let Stan go and he was free, Kyle wasn't allowed to get mad if he flew to a place that he didn't agree with. Kyle had asked for this. All of this.

Mark was sitting on the hood of the car and looking up at the stars, too.

"There are the Pleiades," he said, pointing up at the sky. His words were only a little slurred but Kyle wasn't surprised. Mark had a constitution that, like his sex drive, seemed to border on being completely inhuman.

Kyle could only groan, never having drunk as much as he had. He tried to follow where Mark was pointing, but the stars swam together and became a sparkling blur.

"The seven sisters," Mark said, and he laughed. "Christ, I can barely deal with having one sister, let alone seven."

He looked back at Kyle but his face was devoid of humor.

"Did you know about this? Did you know she was going to the dance with Stan?"

Kyle shook his head and struggled to sit up. Rubbing his face, he tried to clear his vision. When he looked up, Mark was watching him, and his eyes were so cold that Kyle could've shivered.

"I didn't know anything, Mark," he said, his words slurred. "Stan didn't tell me anything at all. I'm as surprised as you are."

Mark considered this, and he turned back to look at the sky. Moments passed as the cold winds whipped around them, and Kyle's teeth started to chatter.

"Did you see the way he was holding her?" He laughed again. "There wasn't even room for the Holy Ghost between them." Mark pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, the smoke filtering into the air and mixing with the starshine dazzling Kyle's eyes.

After awhile, Kyle became too tired and cold to stand being outside any longer, and he slid off the hood of the car. He ignored Mark when he asked him where he was going and slid into the backseat where he quickly fell asleep.

He wasn't sure how long he'd slept when he was awoken by Mark opening the door and sliding onto the seat next to him. He smelled of whiskey and cigarettes, and through the dim lighting in the car Kyle could barely make out his face. Kyle felt a hand gripping his shirt and pulling it up, so his stomach was exposed to the cold night air.

"Mark, what are you doing?" Kyle asked, confused and cold and so tired.

"Shh, it's okay, Kyle. I just want to warm you up." He rested a hand on Kyle's stomach and he pulled away, taken aback by how cold Mark's hand was.

"Stop, you're cold," Kyle groaned, trying to pull his shirt down.

"Kyle, stop. It'll be okay in just a second," Mark said, and he was pulling Kyle's shirt up more forcefully. In a moment, he was undoing the buttons on his shirt, and he was pushing it open to expose Kyle's skin.

Kyle moaned, trying to cover himself. "No, it's cold, please," he said, and he tried to turn on his side so Mark couldn't touch him there anymore.

Mark's hands became more insistent and he ripped Kyle's shirt apart, the buttons scattering everywhere. He quickly undid the buckle of Kyle's belt and pulled it open, undoing the buttons on his pants. He had pulled the zipper down on Kyle's slacks before Kyle came around a little and started to protest.

"No, Mark, it's too cold out here and I'm tired," he started to cry a little. "Can't we just go home and do this?"

Mark stopped and seemed to come to his senses. He nodded his head.

"Yes, that's a good idea. We'll go home and finish this. That way I'll be home when Becky gets back."

He drove them home as Kyle flitted in and out of consciousness, and the trees and stars had blended together until they were one and the same. Kyle was fast asleep by the time Mark pulled into the drive, and he barely protested when Mark lifted him from the car and carried him up to his room where he lay him on the bed. Vaguely, he was aware that Mark was putting something in his mouth, something that started to dissolve quickly on his tongue as it spread its bitterness through his saliva.

"Here," Mark said, placing something on Kyle's lips, and he realized it was a bottle of water. He drank thirstily.

Kyle couldn't be sure how much time passed before Mark was inside him; before he was thrusting into him with an anger that Kyle hadn't seen for awhile. His body was filled up with that floating sensation again, and he was brought back to the memories of hanging suspended in an underwater room; the walls murky and colored a blue-green. He didn't feel like he could control his body at all, and he had no choice but to surrender as Mark invaded him with a viciousness that almost stole Kyle's breath away.

Mark was pouring his come into Kyle when he finally couldn't take anymore and he fell into a deep darkness that overwhelmed him; the waters closing over his head. The last thing he could remember as he receded into oblivion was the look on Mark's face and the rage that was written there; the rage that always seemed to be there.

*****

Kyle came to and he was alone in the semi-darkness of Mark's room. Blearily, he managed to sit up and he looked at the walls, at the way the fish tank threw its turquoise light over everything. His body and head felt incredibly heavy, but he still found a way to climb out of bed and make it to the floor. His legs were very weak and he couldn't really walk yet, but he was afraid; he'd never woken up in the middle of the night in Mark's bed and been alone.

He crawled to the bathroom and saw that it was empty as well, and now he was becoming frantic. Where was Mark? He'd never left him by himself like this. Whenever Kyle stirred from a restless sleep with Mark he would wake up and his arms would be wrapped around him, making it almost impossible for him to move. Kyle looked toward the door and saw that it was slightly ajar and he crawled toward it.

Slipping through the doorway, Kyle wasn't sure where to go next. He was so disoriented that he hadn't thought to put clothes on, so he was outside of Mark's room and completely naked. Weakly, he was able to lift himself up by grabbing onto a table in the hallway, and once he was on his feet he pressed against the wall to steady himself. Leaning against the wall, he was able to make it down the hallway but he still felt so tired and out of it; he just wasn't sure where to go.

A sound deep in the house caught his attention, and somehow he was able to concentrate on it enough to follow it. Once or twice his legs almost gave out beneath him, but he kept going, his body shaking from exhaustion and his mind blurring in and out. After what felt like a million years, the sound was becoming louder and he saw faint purple light falling through a slightly open door at the end of a hallway he'd never been in before. Kyle crept closer but he could feel his strength leaving him quickly, and he barely made it to the door before he collapsed.

In a daze, Kyle pushed the door open as much as he could, and he crawled through; all of the strength in his body gone. Under his fingers he saw cream-colored carpet that was identical to the carpet in Mark's room, but as his eyes traveled upward, he saw that the room he was in was decidedly more feminine, with lace curtains adorning the windows and stuffed animals sitting on the shelves lining the walls. A massive canopy bed sat in the middle of the room, and what he saw there astonished him so much that he almost broke from his brain fog, but he couldn't; his body wouldn't let him.

From Kyle's vantage point, he could see Rebecca sitting upright on the bed, her long hair curling down her back in wild streams. Her head was thrown back and she was panting softly, and Kyle realized that was the sound he'd heard in the darkness of the hallway. He struggled to understand what he was seeing but he didn't think he could stay awake for very much longer, so Kyle tried to crawl back the way he'd come. Barely having control of his body, he bumped against a dresser, causing something to fall off and clatter loudly in the quiet room. Instinct made him freeze, even though his mind was a haze of everything that had happened that evening.

Kyle heard the panting sound stop and a rustling sound came from the bed. He didn't have the strength to lift his head so he lay his face against the carpet and a feeling of terror washed through him. For whatever reason, he knew that Rebecca had to be with Stan, and he didn't want to see them together. It would just hurt too much. He lay there waiting in a daze of confusion and fear.

"It's Kyle," he heard Rebecca say, and her voice was a husky whisper.

Kyle couldn't make out the other voice because it was too low, but he closed his eyes in horrible anticipation.

The blankets were rustling and then Kyle could hear footsteps, and he had no idea if it was Rebecca or Stan walking toward him, but he waited, his body completely spent and his mind drifting. Somehow, he stayed conscious even though it was a struggle and he couldn't figure out why he didn't just let himself drift away. Wouldn't it be safer in the darkness?

The footsteps came toward him and then they stopped abruptly, but Kyle could tell that there was someone close to him; very close. He wouldn't be surprised if he reached out a hand and it brushed the person's foot, but he didn't dare. Instead, he kept his eyes shut, willing himself to disappear.

A hand came to rest gently on the back of Kyle's neck and he started, finally opening his eyes. Turning his head, he prepared himself to come face to face with Stan but what he saw completely floored him, and he felt like the bottom dropped out of his world completely.

"Mark," he whispered, and the dizziness inside of his head threatened to overtake him completely.

*****

Kyle was floating in the waters again; suspended and immobilized. His body didn't belong to him in that moment, and he couldn't move his limbs. A rush of images flooded through him and he was remembering Rebecca's white gown and the flowers in her hair, the stars shifting position in the sky, the taste of whiskey and cigarettes on Mark's insistent lips. He floated through the memories and he tried to hold onto something that could steady him, but he couldn't and he was falling again. Faintly, he could hear moans coming through the waters drowning his brain, and he could feel flashes of warmth in his body that made him whimper. He managed to open his eyes and he could barely register what he was seeing.

In the pale, golden light of a nightlight glowing on the wall, Kyle could see something glint in the semi-darkness, and blinking his eyes, he realized that it was coming from a chain that was strung between Rebecca's breasts; a chain that was attached to the silver nipple rings she had. The chain was bobbing up and down as Rebecca was being thrust into, and Kyle could see elegant hands gripping her waist and holding her steady with every movement she made.

Kyle turned his head and realized he'd been laid against the pillows in the large canopy bed. He tried to sit up and this motion caught Rebecca's attention and her eyes fell on him even as she was being fucked. She smiled.

"Kyle," she gasped, and the chains were glittering again as her full breasts jiggled. Kyle was taken aback to see a collar around her neck but it was made of silver links instead of black leather.

"Is he awake?" Mark's voice asked, and he was sitting up even though his hands were still on Rebecca's waist; even though he was still inside of her. He was looking at Kyle and his face was tender but Kyle wanted to escape from that room and run far away.

"Yes," Rebecca replied, and she was kissing Mark's throat. "I thought you gave him something."

Mark responded by kissing his sister deeply and tugging on the chain attached to her nipples. She cried out a little but she smiled, too.

"I did, but he's always been so stubborn. I guess he just didn't want to miss out on the fun." Mark turned to Kyle and ran a finger down his lip. "Right?"

Kyle just shook his head and tried to pull away, but his body wouldn't let him. Rebecca gently rose, moaning a little as Mark was being pulled from her, and she crawled over to Kyle. She brushed a hand across his forehead and kissed his cheek.

"It's okay, Kyle," she whispered. "I promise. We've been like this for years and even though I tried to get away, something always keeps me coming back. Mark loves me more than anyone ever could, and I know that he loves you the same way." She reached up and caressed the collar on her neck a little. "He's given you one too, right?"

Kyle tried to sit up but he couldn't, and his eyes filled with tears.

"Mark doesn't love me," he said, and he was sobbing. "He doesn't love anyone."

Rebecca hugged Kyle close, her soft body rubbing against him, and he was almost comforted. The smell of roses clung to her and he tried to focus on that even as the rest of his world was falling apart.

"What we have might be strange to some people, but it makes sense to us," she whispered, and she kissed his tears away. "We aren't trying to scare you, but I'm not sure how we can make you understand."

Kyle looked at Mark, his eyes beseeching him to make sense of this situation. Mark looked sad, and Kyle realized that was the first time he'd ever seen him look truly contrite.

"I'm sorry, Kyle. I really didn't think it would go this far," he said. He slid close to Kyle and held him tightly, and it was almost like they were in his bedroom on an early Saturday morning after waking up. Mark kissed his cheek and Kyle was surprised to feel moisture on his skin. Pulling away, Kyle could see tears sliding down Mark's face.

Kyle wept harder at the sight of Mark's tears, and he felt so tired and confused.

"Just tell me what's going on, please!" He yelled, and he was sobbing now. "I don't understand any of this!"

The twins exchanged a look.

"Kyle, I don't really know how to explain any of this, honestly," Mark finally said.

"Why did you drag me into this? Why did you make it impossible for me to get away from you? Why?" Kyle asked, turning his face away.

"I wanted you, Kyle," Mark replied. "I still want you."

"But you have her!" Kyle pointed at Rebecca, who had sat back on her heels and was watching the scene unfold, her face full of sorrow.

"I know, and for the longest time it was just me and Becky, and that was okay," Mark said, glancing at his sister. "But then I met you, and I don't know, Kyle. My feelings changed. I feel like I'm changing."

"What does that even mean?" Kyle cried, covering his face with his hands. He thought back to Mark carrying him to the bathtub and taking care of him when he was sick and he just couldn't wrap his head around any of this. Who was this person in front of him? How could he trust anything he said? How could he trust anything he'd ever said?

"It means that I think I love you," Mark said, and he became quiet. Somewhere in the room, a clock was ticking and Kyle tried to focus on the sound so he wouldn't go crazy.

"How can you love anyone? You're fucking your own sister!" Kyle shouted. Rebecca cringed but he didn't care. He couldn't believe that he'd been dragged into this unbelievably sick situation.

"Just because I'm having a sexual relationship with Becky doesn't mean I'm not capable of loving another person, Kyle." Mark's voice was starting to take on the same tone it did when he was starting to become angry. Kyle tried not to become afraid and he fought against his natural compulsion to capitulate.

"I think you're crazy. You're both crazy!" He yelled.

"Kyle," Mark said, and his voice was serious. Kyle cringed and turned away, his hands covering his face.

He felt a warm, soft hand brush against his arm, and he looked up to see Rebecca looking at him, and she looked so sad he couldn't stand it.

"Kyle, please," she said. "Please try to understand."

"You went to the dance with Stan," he said, stupidly. She smiled.

"Yes, I did, and he talked about you the whole night."

"Why did you go with him?"

"To make a point, I guess," she replied, shrugging. "A stupid point, now that I think of it. I was angry because Mark had chased Kevin away so I guess my reaction was pretty impetuous."

"Big surprise," Mark muttered.

"Shut up, Mark," Rebecca snapped. "Can't you see how much you've fucked up this poor kid? You need to make things okay again."

"I need a moment alone," Kyle said, finally managing to sit up. "Please, I just need to be able to think about this."

Rebecca jumped up and Kyle tried to ignore her nakedness, but it was hard to overlook her wide hips and curvy thighs in the lamplight. As she helped Kyle off the bed, he could feel her breasts brush against his arm, and he blushed.

"Kyle, are you going to be okay?" Mark called. "I don't want you going too far; you seem pretty out of it."

"I'll be fine," Kyle snapped.

Somehow, he managed to pull himself through the door and he made it to Mark's room. Once there, he pulled his clothes on and grabbed his phone. He looked around the room like it was the last time he would ever see it, and then he was slowly making his way down the hallway toward the steps. Some of his body's strength had returned, but not much so he tried to go as slowly as possible while still making relatively good time. He made it down the stairs and across the foyer, and he opened the front door as quietly as possible and slipped out into the frozen night.

The cold almost took his breath away, and he could feel it invading his hoody and jeans, but he kept going and started making his way down the long curved driveway. The night was still intensely dark, and if Kyle had had to guess, he would've said it was around 3 am. The cold stars glowed bewitchingly above him as he crept down the snow-crusted driveway, and he prayed that he would have enough strength to make it to the bottom where he could get through the gates and escape.

Occasionally, he looked over his shoulder at the sleeping dragon that made up Mark's house and his fear was reinforced. It seemed to be comprised of nothing but darkness and secrets at this point, but an edge of agony was seeping into his heart with every step he took. Mark's face swam before him and he remembered how tender he was when he took care of him, and he could feel his hands on his body; could feel Mark drawing him to his chest and hugging him so close that their heartbeats matched up. These thoughts made Kyle's footsteps slow but he kept going, ignoring the crazy voice inside of him that implored him to turn back.

The cold was numbing his body as much as the pill that Mark had given him did, and his legs started to become heavy and slow as he drew closer to the gates. The icy wind was brutal and unforgiving as the gates finally came into sight, and he tried to move faster, even as his body was fighting every step he took. Finally, he came upon the gates and he clutched the wrought iron in his hands while the orange lights flanking the brick walls shone on him, illuminating the ground and trees just beyond his reach. When the gates didn't open automatically he looked around frantically for the panel that would open them, and in the darkness and his fatigue he couldn't figure out where it was.

"Please, just open," he whimpered. Kyle searched frantically for the thing that would set him free but he couldn't find it, and before he knew it he was succumbing to the bitter cold and fatigue arresting his mind and body, and he was sliding against the gates and coming to rest at the foot of them. He cried as his face pressed against the iron, and his tears were cold slivers of ice on his cheeks. Kyle wept because he couldn't escape the prison Mark had made for him, no matter what he did. His exhausted body lay against the gates but his heart wanted him to turn back for the house; back toward Mark and his insanity. Why couldn't he escape?

Kyle wasn't sure how long he'd been passed out against the gates before he felt hands reaching under him, and he was being lifted into strong arms that held him close. He could feel himself being carried and he tried to talk, even through his lips that were numb with cold, and a voice was shushing him gently and telling him to be still. He complied and nestled his head against a shirt that smelled of cigarettes and cologne, and he suddenly felt relaxed and safe again. The warmth of this person almost brought him back to himself, but he still couldn't stay awake and he dozed again.

Vaguely, he could feel himself being undressed and laid in a soft, warm bed, and the sheets smelled of that same comforting cologne, and he snuggled himself into the blankets and sighed. Through his weariness, Kyle could feel the mattress sagging beside him and he opened his eyes to find himself back in the blue-green room, and Mark was there pulling him close. Moaning, he tried to pull away, but his attempt was weak and lacking actual desire.

"Kyle, please," Mark said, and he was kissing him deeply, and Kyle was surprised to see that the kiss was the same as it had been before; before he knew the truth of Mark and his sister.

Even though he knew it was crazy, Kyle opened himself to Mark and accepted his kisses, and they melded together in a fit of passion that was so hot that Kyle was afraid he'd melt away. He knew that it was wrong but he couldn't turn Mark away, and when Mark turned him onto his stomach and entered him slowly, he threw his head back and cried; completely overtaken by the ecstasy that he'd found with him. Mark had been gentle with him, and he gripped Kyle's hips like he was made of fine, extremely fragile glass, and he'd thrust into him with a slow agony that felt like liquid heat; searing and addictive.

"Kyle," Mark had murmured against his ear as he came inside him, and Kyle was beginning to unravel beneath his touch. He clutched the pillow in his hands and bit it to muffle his cries, pressing back against Mark as he continued to pulse inside him. Mark had held him close, and his hand came to rest over Kyle's frantic heart, and in the last moments of his climax he whispered the words that almost obliterated Kyle, and he was coming undone under Mark's touch:

"I love you."


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is seriously fucking me up, you guys.
> 
> I wonder if I'm crazy? I can't tell.

"Here, I made you some coffee."

Kyle looked up to see Rebecca standing beside him holding a mug. He accepted it, grateful for its heat against his hands, and he took a tiny sip. Hazelnut flavored coffee flooded across his tongue, and he nodded at her to show his appreciation. She sat beside him on the bench and gazed out at the wintry vista that stretched before them.

She drew her shawl around her shoulders and shivered a little, but she stayed quiet as the tiny snowflakes fell from the sky; their crystal cleanliness clinging to the few blades of grass that were still visible. They sat that way for awhile, and Kyle was relieved to find that their silence was not an uncomfortable one, even if it was loaded with unspoken questions.

Reaching out a hand, Rebecca tugged on one of the ear flaps on Kyle's ushanka.

"I see you're putting your new hat to good use," she said, smiling.

"Well, regardless of what happened last night, I still appreciate your getting it for me."

"The color really complements your eyes."

Kyle was silent, remembering the way his eyes had looked the night Mark fucked him in front of the mirror. A slow sadness grew inside of him at the memory, at the feeling of betrayal that had settled across of him since last night. Now all of the memories felt like lies and he was trying to pick his way through the aftermath.

"You know, I'm honestly surprised you were still here this morning," she said. "I thought for sure that Mark and I would wake up and you would've just disappeared without a trace."

Kyle shrugged.

"I tried to disappear last night, and as you can see I wasn't exactly successful."

"Yeah, Mark told me that he found you slumped by the gate fast asleep."

"Nah, I'm pretty sure I passed out."

"Did you really want to leave?"

"Yes, I did. Can you blame me?"

Rebecca thought about his question for a moment as the snowflakes continued to fall. Kyle watched as a wayward tuft of snow floated toward them and it became trapped in one of the loose curls falling over her shoulder.

"No, honestly. That was some heavy shit that we dropped on you out of nowhere." She sighed. "I probably wouldn't have stuck around if I were in your position."

Kyle sipped the coffee slowly and considered this. He was pretty sure that any sane person would've gotten the fuck out of dodge after the twins' revealed their secret, and yet here he was; sitting on the deck on an early Saturday morning drinking coffee with one of them like they were in a Folgers commercial. He found it crazy how so much could happen in such a short amount of time and life just kept moving; brothers could be fucking their sisters but you still had to wake up in the morning to face the day regardless.

Glancing over, a gleam of light reflected off of the silver collar that Rebecca was still wearing, and he cringed. He wasn't wearing his that morning because Mark had been gentle with him the night before, and the sight of it on her neck made him recall the chain strung between her breasts, and the way it had moved so rhythmically as Mark thrust into her. Setting the mug aside, he clutched his head in his hands and tried to forget but the memories were burned into him.

He felt Rebecca place a hand on his back and he had to fight the urge to recoil.

"When did you get that?" He asked, pointing at her throat.

Her hand drifted over the silver loops and she became pensive.

"On our last birthday. I guess you could say it was more a present for himself than it was for me." She smirked. "You should've seen our parents' faces when I opened it. They just thought it was some weird necklace, but I knew better."

"Rebecca, when did all of this start?"

"Oh, I don't even know where to start answering that question. That's a lot to unpack."

"That makes sense but how can you be so calm about all of this? You're acting like this is just another conversation on any given day."

"Because this is my life, Kyle, and this has been my life for a very long time. I can't expect you to understand that so quickly, but it's the truth." She turned to face him and it it hurt him to see her bleak hazel eyes. "Wouldn't you agree that there's a million different types of love?"

He slowly nodded, considering the question.

"I guess so, yes."

"Then why is this so different? I mean, yes, I understand that we're biologically wired not to be attracted to our family members, and who knows, maybe our wiring is just totally fucked up, but who are we hurting?"

Rebecca stood and walked across the porch, her bright red shawl standing out like a vivid splash of blood against the icy backdrop. As she gazed across the snow fields the wind tumbled her curls around her shoulders, and Kyle thought he'd never seen her look so lonely.

"All I know is that when I'm with Mark and things are good, I'm happy. I'm actually happy for awhile."

"Then why did you start dating Kevin?" Kyle asked.

She glanced over her shoulder to look at him, and a look of anger was there, coupled with the melancholy.

"Because of you, Kyle," she said, and she turned away to face the horizon again. The white sky looked like it was getting ready to crash down from the weight of the clouds and snow gathering in it. "I saw the way Mark was drawn to you, and for awhile I looked the other way and figured he was just restless being back in South Park. I thought maybe he was actually making a real friend, but after awhile I just knew. I saw the way he looked at you and I knew."

"You said being with Kevin made you feel normal. Was that true?"

She laughed a little. "What is normal, Kyle? Society still acts like the only normal there is for a woman is to get married and have children, but we both know that's a fucking lie. Normal can be anything you want it to be as long as it works for you. I guess it was refreshing being able to be with Kevin and not hide it from anyone, though."

Kyle finished the last of his coffee and set the mug aside.

"If this is so normal for you, why don't you and Mark just live your lives in the open? Why the secrecy?"

She turned to face him, still hugging the shawl close around her shoulders.

"You're gay, aren't you, Kyle?"

He was so taken aback by this question that for a moment he couldn't answer. Finally, he nodded his head, confused.

"Have you told anyone, huh? Besides some of your friends, who else knows? Your parents?"

Kyle stood up angrily.

"You can't possibly be comparing homosexuality to incest right now. Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"I'm not saying they're one and the same, goddammit! I'm just saying that there are always going to be parts of yourself that you want to hide because you're afraid the world will never understand!"

"What the hell is going on out here?" Mark asked, suddenly stepping through the sliding glass doors. "I could hear you guys all the way from inside."

"It's nothing," Rebecca replied, turning her back on him.

Mark glanced at Kyle, his eyebrows raised, and all he could do was shrug his shoulders helplessly. Mark walked over to his sister and put his hands on her waist.

"Becky, talk to me, please," he said, and Kyle was taken aback at how gentle his voice was.

"Oh, I'm just trying to make sense of something that will never make sense to anyone," she replied, sounding like she was about to start crying. "No one will ever understand any of this, Mark, and we were stupid and got another person involved so they can look down on us; so they can judge us."

Mark hugged her against him as she started to cry, and Kyle couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy; the feeling of it surprising him more than Mark's tender tone of voice had. Moments passed as the wind blew across the porch bringing errant snow flakes with it, and Kyle watched as Mark held his sister tight, his eyes closed as he caressed her hair and spoke softly to her; the words he spoke becoming lost on the breeze.

****

"Becky decided she's going to take a nap," Mark said, coming into the room and closing the door behind him. "She was pretty upset."

Kyle didn't say anything, opting instead to stare out the window as the snow continued to fall. He felt like his world had exploded, and he had no idea how he was going to start picking up the pieces.

"Why won't you look at me?" Mark asked. "Why are you acting like I'm such a different person now?"

He turned to look at Mark reluctantly, who, for all intents and purposes, was exactly the same as he'd been the day before. Kyle noticed the same chestnut highlights in his hair, the same dark eyes that seemed to always teeter on the side of rage, and looking down, he saw the same elegant, strong hands that had gripped Rebecca's waist last night as she was being-

Kyle shook his head, hating the memories.

"You are a different person, Mark. I mean, I never pretended like I really knew you but, come on, what am I supposed to think here? How am I supposed to deal with what I saw? What I know?"

Mark walked over and pulled Kyle to him, and all Kyle could imagine were those hands being on Rebecca's skin the night before. He wanted to cry at the feeling of jealousy that washed over him, and he truly felt like he was going insane, because even as his reason wanted him to resist, Kyle's body was already responding.

"I didn't show you what Rebecca and I do together to make you unhappy, Kyle," Mark said, still holding him close. "I showed you the truth because I trust you. I knew there was a possibility you could wake up last night and find us. I wanted you to."

Kyle laid his head against Mark's chest and sobbed.

"Why? Why are you two like that?"

"We've always had to rely on one another, and for the longest time I watched as Rebecca went out and made a lot of mistakes with a lot of different guys. She was never the same after we left South Park, Kyle. After she became a teenager she took stupid, crazy chances and all I could do was worry."

"What do you mean?"

"I could tell that Rebecca did the things she did because she was lonely, because she needed love. I really can't tell you the exact moment I stopped looking at her as just a sister, but as soon as I did things were never the same." Letting go of Kyle, Mark walked over to the bed and sat down, running a hand through his hair.

"It was after our parents had started fighting a lot, and Becky and I were always being left at home alone together. Dad was at work and mom had just started practicing again so they were always out." He sighed and looked down at his hands. "It was late at night and I heard Becky come home, and Kyle, I was so fucking furious. I knew she'd been out with some piece of shit and I knew she'd let him take advantage of her. I remember feeling so mad but it wasn't just that; I wanted to know what it was like. I wanted to feel what they got to feel, and I couldn't stop myself."

Kyle was silent, watching him with wide eyes.

"I heard the shower start as I lay in bed and, god, you probably don't believe me but I can even remember what the ceiling looked like as I stared up at it and I imagined her in the bathroom. I could see her in there, and before I knew what I was doing, I was getting up and walking down the hallway. There was a shaft of light that fell against the wall and I can see it in my mind right now, Kyle; that little crack in the doorway that was just enough for me to look through and see everything."

"She was exactly the way I'd imagined she'd be, down to the smallest detail. Sure, we saw each other all the time as little kids, but eventually she didn't want to be seen like that, you know? I can remember every part of her from that night. Christ, I can even remember what her panties looked like as she dropped them onto the floor and she turned to face me, even though she didn't know I was watching."

Mark looked at Kyle and his face was stricken but there was desire uncurling in his eyes, and the sight of it frightened Kyle. He knew that Mark was lost in memories that only he could see.

"I remember what it was like to push her up onto the bathroom counter and spread her open, and I was inside of her and finally I knew what she felt like, Kyle. She looked in my eyes and I knew it's what she wanted, and as I fucked her for the very first time I wished she had been a virgin."

Suddenly, Mark was reaching out and he was grabbing a hold of Kyle's wrist and pulling him down on the bed.

"You're the only virgin I've ever been with, Kyle. Did you know that?"

Kyle moaned as Mark kissed his mouth, and his wrists were being pulled above his head and held in place so he couldn't move.

"You were so sweet and you looked at me the same way Becky did the first time we were together. Don't you remember? You trusted me then, Kyle. Why can't you trust me now?"

He was kissing Mark now but inside his head Kyle was still afraid; he was still so unsure. Everything had become so complicated in such a short amount of time.

"I want to trust you, Mark, but this is too much," he said, and he allowed Mark to keep kissing him, but he wasn't responding as much. Mark noticed and stopped, looking down at him with expectant eyes.

"My heart feels like it's being torn to pieces right now," Kyle said. "You made it seem like I was the only person in the world that you wanted, but now I know that isn't true. Rebecca was always waiting in the shadows, and I was just something else you wanted to play with."

"That isn't true," Mark said.

"It is true, and what's more, you went out of your way to take me away from Stan and he really loved me, Mark. He wanted me, and he didn't have anything to hide, but you did."

"I can give you so much more than Stan ever could, Kyle," Mark said, and he was kissing him again, and the kiss was so deep and demanding that Kyle surrendered, even as his mind conjured up visions of Stan and the sweet summer night that they'd confessed to one another. Somehow, Kyle closed his mind to everything and once again he found himself falling headlong into Mark's arms; becoming lost in him.

****

"What did you give him?" A soft voice asked, but Kyle couldn't keep his mind together enough to figure out who it was.

"Flunitrazepam," another voice answered, and Kyle couldn't place it either. "He was so tense after dinner that I thought it was for the best."

"Are you sure you want to share him with me?"

"Yes, of course."

"But does he want this?"

"Of course he does."

There was the rustling of what sounded like clothes and then silence. All of a sudden, Kyle could feel himself being lifted into someone's arms and he was being carried and laid on a soft surface. He felt things being pulled from him, but he couldn't fight. All he could do was lay there and flit in between the shadows, struggling to understand.

"Mark, he's so thin. Look how delicate he is."

"I know, don't you like it, though? I love how fragile he is."

Kyle could feel kisses being dropped on his skin all along his body, and he tried to move away but he couldn't.

"Kyle, don't be afraid, please," a soft voice was whispering in his ear. "I just want to be able to love you the same way Mark does, okay?"

Kyle whimpered and he was falling into oblivion.

****

Kyle came to and the room was awash in the deep blue glow that occurred right before daybreak was even a thought, and he looked around, not sure where he was or what had happened before he fell asleep.

He was naked and nestled in Mark's arms, and for a moment he felt warm and safe and whole. Snuggling close to him, Kyle breathed in Mark's scent and he sighed, but he quickly realized they weren't alone.

Rebecca was laying on his other side, and her arm was draped across his chest. She murmured a little, and then she was blinking her eyes open, and they sleepily regarded Kyle for a moment before she smiled.

"Hey," she said. "I didn't think you'd wake up until later. Are you feeling okay?"

"I think so," Kyle whispered. "What happened? What are you doing here?"

"Don't worry about it," she replied, and she kissed his mouth, her tongue licking along his bottom lip. He pulled away.

Mark had woken up by this point, and he groggily came to life, his arms tightening around Kyle.

"Baby," he whispered, and he kissed Kyle's throat lazily. "What's wrong?"

"I think he's afraid," Rebecca said, and she sat up. The blue-green light of the fish tank washed over her naked body and Kyle couldn't help staring. She wasn't wearing the chains tonight, but the silver rings flashed brightly in her nipples, which were stiff and large in the mounds of her soft, heavy breasts.

Mark kissed Kyle's lips and his tongue delved into his mouth in that slow, casual way that he had. Pulling away, he held Kyle close and looked into his eyes.

"I need you to trust us, Kyle. We aren't going to hurt you. I promise."

Kyle whimpered and tried to sit up, but Mark pushed him back down gently and he licked at his neck. After a moment, his teeth nipped at Kyle's racing pulse and he moaned.

All at once he felt a hand on his cock and he opened his eyes wide, and when he looked down he saw brown curls draped over his hips as Rebecca dipped her mouth onto him and pulled him in between her lips. Gasping, he arched his back and tried to fight, but Mark held him down, soothing him.

"Shh, relax," he said, and he kissed Kyle again.

The warmth of Rebecca's mouth engulfed him until he was panting and crying for her to stop, but all the while Mark held him close and soothed him with little kisses on his cheeks and throat. When he was just on the brink of coming, Rebecca stopped and slid her hands up Kyle's stomach, and her naked body was covering him; the scent of roses filling up his senses. She was kissing him again and her soft lips hungrily pressed down on his own until he gasped.

"Mark, I think he's ready," she murmured, and she sat back and watched as Mark took over.

Gently, Mark lifted Kyle from the bed and he held him close just like he had the night that Kyle was sick, and he was pushing into him, making Kyle throw his head back and cry out. With every thrust, Mark said Kyle's name, and he tried to stay conscious, and for a reason he couldn't name, he started to sob. Kyle was sore already though he couldn't say why, but the moist slickness of his opening seemed to be almost too much for Mark to handle, and he was holding Kyle so hard that he thought he might break apart in his hands.

Kyle was just on the brink of being gone again when he looked over Mark's shoulder and gazed directly into Rebecca's eyes, and the same sadness and loneliness that he'd seen before was so strong that he was almost completely taken out of the moment, and it was almost like Mark wasn't inside him at all. She watched as Mark fucked Kyle and with every movement, her face broke apart a little more, and instead of gasping out Mark's name, Kyle was calling for her, but she turned away.

It was all over in one final, violent thrust, and Kyle was fading into pieces in Mark's hands, but the last thing he saw before he was gone was Rebecca's stricken face, and the tears that she couldn't hold back anymore. Soundlessly, he held out a hand in desperation but he was gone before he could reach her.

*****

"Kyle, wake up! Wake up, please!"

Kyle woke up slowly, but his head was so heavy that he could barely lift it.

"Please, Kyle! I need you!"

His eyes broke apart, and he could see Mark looking down at him, but he'd never seen Mark look this way before. Kyle could feel himself being yanked from the bed and he was being pulled from the room and down a hallway, and it was the same hallway that he passed through on the night that he'd seen Mark and Rebecca together for the first time.

Mark led him through the door and he saw the canopy bed and the shelves lined with stuffed animals, and the lace curtains were holding back the fragile sunlight that had managed to break through the clouds, and for a moment Kyle was dazzled.

"She won't wake up, Kyle! What do I do? You have to help her!"

Kyle was being pulled into a bathroom that was dimly lit, and when his eyes had finally taken in the room, he looked at the large bathtub in the corner that was completely filled, but something wasn't right. The water was the color of light pink roses, and the pale figure floating inside of its confines wasn't moving; the only movement was from the dark ribbons of hair floating on the surface of the water and flowing over the edge of the porcelain.

Mark dragged him closer and now he could see the pale arms that had been ripped into shreds, and the source of the roses was clear; the blood was pouring into the water and Kyle couldn't help but start to gag.

"You need to call 911!" Kyle shouted. "Now!"

The rest of that day was lost in a blur of sirens and red and blue lights, and Kyle huddled into himself as the house was caught in a chaos of movement and unpredictability. The only thing Kyle could focus on was the way Rebecca had looked as she watched her brother fuck him, and he knew that the reason for what had happened was there in her eyes, and he knew that he was partially to blame. Mark had told him to stay in bed and sleep as he went to the hospital; that he'd be back before too long and he'd let him know what was going on.

Kyle had fallen into a restless sleep that was aided by whatever Mark had given him the night before, and he didn't wake up until Mark was crawling into bed beside him and he was being wrapped up in his arms. For the first time in what felt like forever, Mark didn't make any attempt to sleep with Kyle as he held him close, and all he could do was cry as the night wore on, until Kyle thought the sound of Mark's sobs would go on forever.


	23. Chapter 23

**Sympathy, tenderness,**  
Warm as the Summer,  
Offer me their embrace.

**Friendliness, gentleness,  
Strangers to my life,  
They are there in his face.**

**Goodness and sweetness  
And kindness  
Abound in this place**

**I am in love**  
**With the things**  
**That I see in his face -**  
**It's a memory I know**  
**Time will never erase...**

 

**-Sympathy, Tenderness - Jekyll & Hyde**

********

 The next few days passed in a blur for Kyle as he tried to help Mark come to terms with what Rebecca had done. She was in the hospital for awhile to be evaluated and to confirm that she wouldn't try to hurt herself again, and Mark was inconsolable the entire time she was gone. The only time he seemed to brighten up was when he was visiting her, and when he wasn't with his sister he was holding onto Kyle, just trying to make sense of it all.

Kyle, for his part, tried to be as helpful as possible but after awhile he couldn't help feeling smothered. He was used to Mark keeping him on a short leash, but he was even worse after Rebecca tried to kill herself. His heart hurt so badly for Mark, but it was almost like he couldn't breathe anymore. Mostly, he would sit and listen as Mark would cycle through rage and sadness and confusion; waiting quietly for him to calm down. He just couldn't seem to understand why Rebecca would want to kill herself, and he assumed it had to do with their father, which made him rage all the more.

Kyle had more than one theory as to why Rebecca would want to commit suicide, and he would often find his thoughts straying back to the night they'd all been together and she was going down on him; her hair draped across his hips. He would remember the way she had looked while watching Mark have sex with Kyle, and he would cringe and try to forget, but he just couldn't. The thought of her standing on the porch in her bright red shawl and looking out at the snow, her face so sad and lost, filled Kyle with a melancholy that tore at his heart.

All he could do was deal with Mark and his mood swings, and he came to think of them as a pendulum that was constantly in motion, and he never knew what to expect. They passed the dark days while Rebecca was in the hospital weathering the storm, and Kyle found himself beginning to crack from Mark's constant need to have him close. He was particularly amazed that Mark didn't want to have sex at all while she was gone, opting instead to have Kyle wrapped in his arms as they lay in bed; contemplating the quiet and the emptiness of the huge house settling around them.

It wasn't until Friday after school that Kyle was able to get an actual moment alone. Mark was going to skip tutoring in order to pick up Rebecca from the hospital because she was finally being discharged, and he was concerned about her being comfortable when she came home.

"You're coming over tonight, right?" He asked as he watched Kyle pull some books out of his locker. "After tutoring?"

"Of course. I'll be right over after I get done here." Kyle pulled his messenger bag onto his shoulder and started walking toward the library, Mark close at his side.

"I'm so glad Rebecca is finally coming home. I haven't been away from her for this long in forever. I feel like I was about to lose my mind."

"I'm glad too," Kyle said, smiling, and he turned his face upward so Mark could kiss his lips.

"We might have to break out the collar tonight," Mark said, softly. "You know, to celebrate things finally getting back to normal."

"I don't really think you know what normal is, Mark."

"Meh, live and let live." He checked his phone. "I need to get going. I'll see you tonight, okay? Just use your key to get in; I'll probably be upstairs making sure Becky is getting settled."

Kyle watched him walk away down the hallway, idly wondering what Mark's idea of 'getting settled' entailed; his stomach clenching a little at the thought. Shaking his head, he turned and continued heading for the library and was almost there when he ran into Stan leaving the bathroom.

"Hey," Stan said, and he looked surprised. "Are you on your way to tutoring?" He looked around. "Where's Mark?"

"Oh, he's going to the hospital to pick up Rebecca. She's being discharged today."

"I'm glad she's finally going home." Stan jammed his hands in his pockets, suddenly looking contrite. "You know, she's actually really nice. I'm starting to think I would've taken her to the dance even if it hadn't meant getting back at Mark."

"That's very touching," Kyle said, continuing down the hallway; Stan falling into step beside him. He stopped suddenly.

"You know, I seriously don't want to go to tutoring today."

"Then don't. Why don't you cut out? We can go to Happy Burger or something," Stan said, his eyebrows raised.

"You don't have plans?"

"Nah, I was just going to head home and play video games or something. Kenny said something about throwing another rager tonight but I'm seriously not in the mood."

"God, me either." Kyle thought a moment. "Okay, I'll do it. I'm going to go tell Mr. Mackey that I'm sick or something."

Less than 10 minutes later they were walking out of the school and into the late afternoon sunshine, the icy wind cutting through their clothes and making them cringe.

"Dude, it's too cold to go all the way to Happy Burger," Kyle said, pulling his collar up so it protected his neck from the chill. His scarf felt like it was made out of tissue paper for all the good it was doing keeping him warm.

"We could just go to my house," Stan suggested.

Kyle considered this option.

"Okay, but are you sure it's a good idea? Mark was pissed the last time you and I hung out."

"Fuck Mark, Kyle. If you want to come over then come over. You can make your own decisions, can't you?"

"Of course I can, Stan. It's just..." he trailed off, trying to think of how to explain Mark's obsessive need to know what he was doing at all times.

"This is exactly what I was talking about while you were in the hospital, dude. You let him dictate everything you do. Aren't you getting tired of that shit? I've never seen you let someone control you like this." He was quiet for a moment. "Except for your mom, of course."

Kyle snorted. "No wonder she loves Mark so much. They share a lot of the same qualities."

"It's seriously disturbing that you're comparing the dude you're dating to your mom," Stan said, laughing. "Ugh, I can't believe I said that out loud. You're dating him, Kyle. That is so fucking weird."

They walked for awhile in silence, the sterile winds making them numb so it was hard to talk.

"I can't remember the last time we got to do this," Stan said, his voice soft and a little sad. "You know, just walk home together and talk. I've missed it so much."

"Me, too," Kyle murmured, and his heart started to thump a little harder when his shoulder brushed against Stan's. All of a sudden he was being transported back to the first night of summer when they'd walked to Starks Pond together, and his heart beat had sped up then too; feeling Stan's shoulder rub his own. A little smile slid across his face at the memory.

"What are you smiling about?" Stan asked suddenly, his voice teasing.

Kyle blushed and looked away.

"It's none of your business."

"Uh huh, whatever you say," he said, trying to sound nonchalant, but when Kyle stole a look at him Stan was grinning.

They arrived at Stan's house and gasped when they finally made it inside and out of the cold. Kyle looked around, a feeling of melancholy passing through him.

"I haven't been in your house in forever," he said. His eyes traveled around Stan's living room, at all of the pieces of furniture and knickknacks that he'd become familiar with during the course of their friendship, and he suddenly felt so happy. Mark's home was so full of darkness and sorrow, but this place felt bright and alive. It gave off the vibe that everything was going to be okay.

"Did you want to stay down here or did you want to go up to my room?" Stan asked, hanging up his coat. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable so we can do whatever you want."

Kyle looked at Stan, at the way his arms flexed as he hung up his coat, and he frowned.

"You look different."

Stan looked down at himself, confused.

"I do?"

"Yeah, you look, I don't know, bigger?" He blushed and shifted his eyes away. "Don't listen to me. I have no idea what I'm talking about."

Stan laughed.

"Are you saying I'm getting fat, Kyle?"

"God, no. You look more muscular." Now he was really blushing, his face feeling like it was about to catch on fire. "Can we please just talk about something else? I can't believe I just said that."

Stan's hand came to rest on his shoulder and he started.

"It's okay, Kyle. Why are you acting so nervous right now? It's just me."

"I know, but everything feels so different. I can't help it."

"I know, but things are okay. No matter what happens we're still best friends, right? We'll always have that, regardless of Mark."

Kyle smiled.

"You're right." He started unbuttoning his coat. "Let's go upstairs."

*****

"How did you end up going to the dance with Rebecca anyway? I mean, how did that even happen?"

Kyle was laying across Stan's bed, staring at the ceiling. The heat kicked on suddenly, filling the room with warm currents of air that wafted across his skin. Stan was across the room, sitting backward on his desk chair and watching him.

"She asked me," he replied, shrugging. "I was coming out of history and she walked right up to me. Now that I think about it, she was probably waiting for me."

"I can't say that I blame her. It was extremely fucked up that Mark broke up her relationship with Kevin. He's just so fucking possessive when it comes to her," Kyle said, rolling over and tucking his hand under his face. He watched as Stan stretched his arms above his head, his eyes lingering on Stan's stomach when his shirt rose a little.

"Kyle, he's possessive about everyone he's interested in," Stan replied, rolling his eyes. "You were almost too afraid to come over here because of him."

"I wasn't afraid!"

"Oh, yes, you were. Quit being so naive."

Kyle turned over to face the wall, annoyed.

"Give it a rest, Stan. I'm so sick and tired of everyone giving me shit about Mark."

"Dude, you were just talking shit about him! If you can see that the way he treats his sister is weird, why can't you realize that he treats you the same way?"

"I don't want to talk about this!"

Kyle stared at the wall and fumed, mainly because he knew that Stan was right, but he didn't want to admit it. When Kyle was alone with Mark everything seemed okay, and when he was being held in his arms late at night and Mark was kissing his throat, things felt almost perfect.

But Kyle was restless, and after the last week of being under Mark's thumb constantly he wanted to break free and just be allowed to live; not being subject to Mark's whims or anyone else's for that matter. His mind was racing with a million thoughts at once when he suddenly felt a hand gripping his waist, and he jumped.

"Hey, relax," Stan said, softly. He had moved to the bed and was peering over Kyle's side so he could see his face. "Why are you so tense tonight?"

Kyle's heart was beating so fast at the way Stan was touching him that he almost couldn't breathe. He drew in a long shuddering breath and tried to steady himself.

"I just don't want to talk about Mark, okay? It's hard listening to everyone bash him."

Stan's hand tightened a little on his waist, and when he spoke his voice was irritated.

"Well, it was hard listening to him talk about fucking you, Kyle, but I dealt with that, didn't I?"

Kyle shook Stan's hand off of his waist and sat up angrily.

"I already apologized about that! What, do I have to do it again? Do I have to keep apologizing for the rest of my fucking life for the things Mark does?" He shouted.

Stan sat forward so his face was very close to Kyle's, and his blue eyes were furiously bright.

"Maybe you should," he said, and his voice had the deadly serious quality that Mark's assumed when he was really starting to become angry. "I had to stand there and listen to that fucking asshole gloat about being with you, Kyle. How the fuck do you think that made me feel? Especially when I always thought-" he broke off, and looked away.

"I didn't tell him to do that, Stan. It broke my heart when he said that shit to you. You know that."

"How would I know that, Kyle?" Stan asked, his eyes narrowed. "I have to see you two together all the time, and it kills me. And then when he started saying that shit I just wanted to kill him. I could imagine twisting his neck in my hands and it took everything in me not to do it."

Kyle was silent as he looked into Stan's eyes, and for a moment he didn't look like himself. He was so angry that he almost resembled Mark, and Kyle could see that they were both very angry people, just for different reasons. He shifted uncomfortably on the bed, and he was very aware of how close Stan was, and his heart beat even more frantically in his chest.

"That fucker was right about something, at least," Stan said, quietly. "Even if I hate to admit it."

"What do you mean?"

Stan's eyes changed a little before he answered, and they seemed to shift from their usual bright blue to a deep navy, and Kyle couldn't see himself in them quite as clearly anymore.

"I've imagined what it would be like with you so many times, and when I found out he'd been with you the way I wanted to be, I almost lost my mind." He moved closer and Kyle's breath caught in his throat. "Even though we aren't together anymore, I still think about it all the time, and having you here in my bedroom is killing me."

They stared at each other for a moment, and Kyle's heartbeat was so frantic that it scared him. Every nerve in his body seemed to be on fire as he looked into Stan's eyes, and now he realized why they suddenly looked so different; they were drenched with barely contained desire.

All at once they were in each other's arms and they were kissing like everything in the world depended in it, and Kyle gladly opened his mouth as Stan's tongue delved inside. Moaning, he pressed his body against Stan's and it was like every sun-drenched afternoon from the past was flooding the room at once, and he could vividly remember every time they'd been together just like this, with Stan's strong hands sliding over his skin and holding him close.

Kyle almost felt like his desire was too much for his body to contain, and he was kissing Stan's mouth so fiercely that he was breathless, and he pulled away gasping. Stan was panting as he watched Kyle, and his hands reached out to grip his hips tightly. For a moment Kyle was reminded of the way Mark liked to hold him just like this, but thoughts of Mark quickly fled his mind as Stan pulled him into his lap, and he straddled him; his arms wrapped around his neck.

Stan managed to pull away and he was looking into Kyle's eyes again, but now he looked concerned.

"Are we really going to do this? Are you sure?" His hands slid around Kyle's hips to rest on his ass and he gently squeezed it, making him moan lightly.

Kyle answered by standing up and unbuttoning his jeans. Slowly he slid them off, along with his boxers, while Stan watched. When he saw what Kyle was doing, he slid his jeans and boxers off too, and sat back on the bed and beckoned Kyle to him, his hands resting on Kyle's hips and drawing him forward. Kyle gladly let himself be pulled in, and he straddled Stan's lap, wearing just his thin white t-shirt and nothing else.

"You're not nearly as shy as you used to be," Stan said, huskily, and his mouth was on Kyle's throat, biting softly at the skin there.

Kyle didn't want to tell him why that was, but he figured Stan could figure it out on his own. Mark had been putting him through his paces for weeks, and now he felt completely confident licking his hand and rubbing it along Stan's cock, preparing him for what was to come. Stan groaned in his throat and laid his head against Kyle's chest as he was being rubbed, and he was moving his hips to match Kyle's rhythm.

"No, not yet," Kyle whispered, and he was holding Stan's neck tighter with one arm as he opened himself up with his other hand, and he was sliding down onto him, and Stan's cock was entering him inch by agonizing inch. Kyle was panting by the time Stan was completely inside of him, and all he could do was wrap both arms around Stan now and try to stay still.

Stan was speechless now, and he held Kyle's hips as he adjusted to the sensation of being inside of him, and when he finally moved Kyle threw his head back as all-consuming ecstasy arrested him. Becoming bold, Kyle lifted himself up a little onto his knees, and he could feel Stan's cock sliding inside of him. A thin line of drool escaped his mouth as the sensation of finally having Stan inside of him filled up his body.

"Mark wasn't kidding," Stan said, and his voice was deep and altered by desire. "You are so fucking tight I can barely stand it."

Stan's hands slid up from Kyle's waist and became tangled in his thin t-shirt, and he was gripping him harder now as he thrust into him, and with every pump Kyle cried out Stan's name until his voice became hoarse. All too soon, Stan was groaning and Kyle could feel his hot come filling him up, and the exquisite heat was more than he could stand. All he could do was lay his head against Stan's hard shoulder and allow him to pulse inside of his body; filling him up until all of the empty and sad places Mark had created were gone.

****

"You don't have to go, you know," Stan said as he kissed Kyle's lips. His hands were draped loosely on Kyle's waist and he pulled him close with the same type of intensity that Mark usually displayed.

Kyle licked Stan's lips and managed to break away, even though he wanted to stay with him until the sun rose over the mountains; laying in each other's arms and leisurely fucking until they fell asleep from exhaustion. Breaking the kiss, he stepped back and looked up at him.

"Stan, I promised Mark. I have to go."

Stan's face was grim as he continued to hold Kyle's waist, and it almost seemed like he wasn't going to let him go.

"Just stay with me, Kyle. You aren't happy with Mark and you know it." He brushed his lips across Kyle's forehead. "Why are you so afraid to let me make you happy?"

Kyle looked up into Stan's face and he was stricken to see how sad he looked. His body was aching from having Stan inside of him, but it was a good ache, and he knew that when he woke up in the morning he wouldn't have bruises in the places Stan had touched. Before he could answer, Stan was pulling him into a hug that seemed to contain every afternoon, every memory, every moment they had loved one another, and Kyle was sinking into it like a deep and peaceful sleep.

"Come back to me, Kyle," Stan whispered. "Please."

****

Kyle turned his key in the lock and pushed on the door, watching as it swung open to reveal the dimly-lit interior of the Cotswolds' home.

As he stepped into the foyer, with the familiar oriental rug on the floor and the soaring chandelier dark above his head, he thought about how opulence could be a prison just like anything else. He drifted toward the stairs and followed the familiar path to Mark's room, and when he entered he saw the blue-green water from the fish tank staining the walls, and he was floating again.

Mark was out on the balcony, smoking a cigarette and looking at the stars through his telescope, and when he saw Kyle he immediately pulled him close and kissed his neck.

"I never thought you'd get here. Did tutoring run long? You're later than I thought you would be."

Kyle flushed and allowed himself to be kissed, but all he could think about was Stan's hands on him and how clean they made him feel.

"Yeah, we ended up staying a little later than usual," he said, deciding not to include too many details in his explanation. Excessive details were a liability when formulating a lie.

Mark reached away and stubbed out his cigarette, and then he was kissing Kyle's lips and pushing him back into his room toward the bed. His hands were holding onto Kyle's hips just like Stan's had merely an hour before, and Kyle couldn't help feeling guilty even as he gave in and opened his mouth to Mark's kisses.

Pulling away, Mark stared at him, his dark eyes sharp.

"Something feels off," he said, softly.

Kyle's heartbeat quickened and he tried to appear unconcerned.

"What do you mean?"

Mark gathered up a handful of Kyle's shirt and brought it to his nose. Looking up, he stared at Kyle.

"You weren't wearing cologne at school today, were you?"

Kyle broke away and walked to the other side of the bed.

"I probably was, Mark. What's the big deal?"

Mark advanced on him, and in the moonlight falling through the windows he looked like a feral animal.

"Stop fucking around, Kyle," he said. "You never wear cologne but your shirt smells like it. What's going on here?"

He paused.

"Why were you late coming over here?" He asked, and Kyle could feel himself starting to shake at his tone of voice.

"Tutoring ran late. I already told you that." Kyle tried to keep his voice steady but it was becoming hard.

Mark laughed a little.

"You must think I'm really stupid, Kyle." He came around the bed and grabbed Kyle's wrists, his grip so tight that Kyle cried out. "You better fucking tell me the truth, Kyle. Now!"

Kyle was crying as Mark began to shake him more violently than he ever had before. He tried to remember Stan's kisses on his cheeks and his hands holding him like he was the most fragile thing in the world, but as Mark shook him everything that comforted him began to fade away. Finally, he collapsed in Mark's arms and he was sobbing against his chest, begging him to stop.

"Tell me." Mark said, and his voice was still hard and unmoved.

"No! I can't!"

Mark pushed Kyle onto the bed and held him down, his hands holding his wrists on either side of his head. Kyle just continued to cry, and he turned his face away so he didn't have to see the anger in Mark's eyes.

"Were you with someone tonight, Kyle?"

Kyle just continued to sob and he tried to think of Stan. Why did he feel so far away when he had just been in his arms such a short time ago?

Mark's grip on his wrists was so tight that Kyle could feel the bones in his wrists beginning to grind together.

"Were you with Stan tonight? Fucking answer me, Kyle!"

"Yes!" Kyle finally yelled when he couldn't take the pain or the fear anymore, and his body tensed against the bed as more sobs tore through him. He cried like his heart was breaking, and he supposed it was, because he was here in the dark when he could've stayed in the light with Stan.

A stillness came over Mark that was almost more frightening than his frantic anger, and Kyle waited for the horror that was in store for him. He'd always known that Mark was capable of violence, but he didn't think he would actually use it against him; not like this.

"You dirty fucking slut," he seethed, softly. "How could you do that to me?" He shook Kyle again until he almost screamed. "How? Tell me!"

"I don't know!" Kyle cried, and he wanted to cover his face with his hands but Mark was too strong.

"You don't know? You don't fucking know?" Mark yelled, and Kyle was terrified because Mark only raised his voice like this when he was truly caught in a fury.

"Please, Mark," Kyle pleaded. "Please don't do this."

"Don't do what? Don't treat you like the slut you are? You should've thought of that before you ran to Stan, don't you think?"

Kyle could feel Mark unbuttoning his pants and starting to pull them down, and he was fighting against him with all of his strength.

"No, Mark! Not like this! Stop!"

Mark didn't listen, though, and it seemed like he'd completely taken leave of his senses as he pulled Kyle's pants down and spread his thighs.

Kyle was screaming now, and in his head images of Stan mixed with Rebecca floating in the bathtub, the pink roses blooming in the water; of that afternoon in his bedroom when Mark hadn't listened to him when he told him to stop. His brain was scrambling for something to make all of this stop and finally he found something that might work, and he screamed it into the silent room:

"Red! Red!"

Mark froze, and he seemed to come back to himself when he heard Kyle yell this, even though the rage was still there. He stood from the bed and Kyle's ragged breaths tore through the air as Mark reached for an ashtray on his dresser and he hurled it against the wall, the glass shattering into a million pieces in a sound that was so loud it seemed to overtake everything in one cataclysmic moment.

In the wake of the glass shattering, Kyle lay limp against the bed as he watched Mark stand in the middle of the room; his chest heaving. Suddenly, against his will, he realized just how damaged Mark truly was, and he wanted to cry for him more than he wanted to cry for himself. There had to be something inside of that angry, vengeful shell that wanted to love another person, and not just control them.

A faint tapping at the door pulled Kyle's focus away from Mark and he looked across the room to see Rebecca standing in the doorway, her long hair flowing over her shoulders and her eyes large as she took in the sight before her. She was dressed in a white night gown and Kyle could see the bandages tied around her wrists, and in the dimness of the room she looked almost as frail as Kyle; her healthy robustness robbed from her while she was in the hospital.

"Mark, is something wrong? I heard this horrible noise," she said, starting to step into the room.

"Don't come in here, Becky. There's glass all over the floor," Mark said, his voice low. "Go back to bed."

Rebecca looked at Kyle where he lay on the bed, his pants still pulled down and his eyes wide with fear. She looked at her brother and her face was sober with understanding.

"Mark, what's going on? Please, let me-"

"Go back to bed and mind your own business!" He shouted, and she cringed away. Wordlessly, she fled from the doorway and Kyle could hear her soft footsteps as they faded away toward her room.

Mark sat on the edge of the bed and his shoulders sagged as the weight of his anger left him, and he covered his face so Kyle couldn't see his expression. He straightened his clothes and after a moment of fighting back his terror, Kyle crawled toward Mark and dared to put his arms around his neck. Mark didn't fight him, and he allowed Kyle to hold him close for a moment. After some time, he reached up and pulled Kyle into his lap, and he held him so close that Mark's heartbeat became the only sound in the world.

"I love you, Kyle," he whispered, and he had never sounded so vulnerable. "Why? Why did you do this?"

Kyle could only shake his head and press his face against Mark's chest.

"Please take off that shirt. I can't stand to smell Stan's cologne on you. Okay?" Mark threaded his hand through Kyle's hair and wound the fragile strands around his fingers.

******

That night, Mark was so tender with Kyle that he almost thought they were making love. The rage had completely disappeared and all that was left was a desperate appeal for Kyle to love Mark the same way Kyle continued to love Stan. Mark whispered Kyle's name but there was only gentleness in his voice, and Kyle could almost forget everything else, and the feeling and memory of being with Stan almost receded completely to the edges of Kyle's mind; but still, his face lingered, haunting him.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope there's still a few folks reading this, lol.
> 
> As always, comments are always appreciated, even if you just want to blow my shit up for writing such insanity. xD Don't be shy, I can take it.

  **You push me, I don't have the strength to**  
**Resist or control you**  
**So take me down**  
**Take me down**

**You hurt me, but do I deserve this**  
**You make me so nervous**  
**Calm me down**  
**Calm me down**

**Wake you up in the middle of the night to say,**  
**I will never walk away again**  
**I'm never gonna leave this bed**

  **-Maroon 5, Never Gonna Leave This Bed**

*********

 

"Mm, Mark, do you have to be so rough?"

Kyle was laying on his back with his arms raised, his hands clutching the headboard behind him as Mark fucked him with his typical aggressive energy. His hands were holding Kyle's upper thighs and they seemed to tighten a little with every thrust, but his grip strengthened significantly at Kyle's question. He smirked.

"You wouldn't be so sore if you hadn't been fucked by two different guys in the same day, Kyle," he replied. "I'd say you're getting exactly what you deserve, don't you?"

Kyle arched his back as Mark thrust into him again, but harder this time, and his hold on the headboard managed to keep him in place even as Mark fucked him ruthlessly. He moaned in breathy pants, each pulse of Mark's hips eliciting a cry of protest. He had almost reached his limit when Mark lifted him from the bed, his arms around Kyle's back, and he drew him onto his lap so Kyle could straddle him.

Kyle gasped at the change of positions as he felt Mark go even deeper inside of him, and he threw his head back at the sensation, panting. He could feel Mark holding his waist and if he wasn't so terrified of his reaction, he would've told Mark that Stan had fucked him in much the same way just hours before.

Thoughts of Stan made Kyle moan harder, and he wrapped his arms around Mark's neck as he was lifted up and down on his cock, Mark building up that same delicious friction that Kyle loved so much. It was true that he was more sore than usual, and typically he would enjoy this feeling, but he was pretty sure that Stan was larger than Mark, and having fucked him so recently made him ache almost beyond what he could bear. Despite his pain, he smiled at the idea of Stan's cock being bigger than Mark's, glad that Mark couldn't read his thoughts.

This smile did not escape Mark's notice, and his eyes narrowed.

"What, do you think it's funny that you cheated on me with Stan, Kyle?" He asked, his hands digging into Kyle's skin as he slammed him down on his cock, his hips thrusting upward savagely. Kyle almost screamed.

"No," he gasped, drool dribbling down his chin. "I'm not even thinking about him."

"You better not be," Mark growled, and he leaned forward to bite Kyle's throat. "You little slut."

Kyle knew it was awful but the way Mark called him a slut turned him on, and he hated that his body reacted to this arousal by clenching around Mark's cock, and this was enough to make Mark come as he was biting Kyle's throat; his teeth digging in harder than they ever had. As he felt Mark's come filling him up and his throat being bitten, he let go and came too, his warmth spraying between them. Gasping, they both were still for a moment as their heartbeats slowly went back to normal.

Mark pulled him forward and kissed the places that he'd bitten, his lips tender now.

"I hope you realize I'm still really fucking angry with you," he said. "A little rough sex isn't going to change that."

Slowly, he lifted Kyle off his cock and he stood, glaring down at him. Kyle watched as Mark walked into the bathroom, and he clutched the cool sheets to his chest, still breathing heavily. Mark emerged a moment later, wearing pajama pants but hadn't put on a shirt. He headed toward the door leading out to the balcony.

"Aren't you even going to put on a shirt? It's so cold outside."

He shook his head and grabbed his pack of cigarettes from the dresser. Mark opened the balcony door and glanced at Kyle.

"I'm pissed, Kyle. I don't really give a shit about how cold it is outside right now. Besides, what the fuck do you care?"

Kyle cringed at Mark's words as he watched him step outside, and a moment later he could hear Mark's lighter being flicked on. Sighing, he lay back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling. Wayward thoughts of Stan floated through his mind, and even though he tried to push them away they tenaciously held on. He turned onto his side and wrapped his arms around himself, wishing that Stan were there to sooth the aches in his skin, even as he wanted Mark to forgive his betrayal.

****

Earlier that evening, after Mark had cleaned up the shards of glass that had scattered across the floor from the destroyed ashtray, he'd coolly turned to Kyle and just looked at him like he was a complete and total stranger. His dark eyes had been a mixture of rage and misery, and Kyle had just huddled on the bed waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"I can't believe you used the safety word," Mark finally said, his voice accusatory.

"Mark, you weren't listening to me," Kyle replied, quietly; his eyes down. "I was afraid you were going to do the same thing you did that day in my room; in my bed."

"What are you talking about?"

Kyle shifted uncomfortably.

"Mark, you know what I'm talking about. Don't make me say it."

Mark stood and came around the bed, stopping right in front of Kyle. He pushed him back on the bed slowly and grabbed his wrists, but softly this time, and he drew Kyle's arms over his head. He kissed Kyle's mouth tenderly.

"You wanted it that day. I know you did."

Kyle turned his face away and blushed.

"No, I didn't. You didn't listen. Mark, you never listen to me. That's why I had to use the safety word."

Mark let go of his wrists and drew Kyle to his chest. Kyle had removed his shirt the way he had asked him to, so his warm skin was pressed up against the fabric of Mark's hoody.

"I guess I could ask you again why you did it, Kyle, but I have to be honest; no answer you could give would satisfy me."

Kyle just stayed silent, his guilt rising up inside of him and stealing his words away.

"I think it's funny that you hate when I talk about hating Stan, about wanting to kill him, and then you pull shit like this. I want to fucking kill him so badly it's taking everything in me not to go over to his house right now." His arms tightened around Kyle. "I can even imagine myself doing it, too. I wouldn't use a gun or anything like that, I'd stab him so I could actually get as close to his pain as possible."

Kyle could feel himself blanching.

"Stan isn't to blame for this, Mark. Blame me. I'm the one that cheated."

"Yeah, but that fucker knew we were together. He knew. He was doing this to twist the screws in me, and you know it."

"Mark, you did the same thing to him, though. You kissed me when I was still with Stan."

Mark responded by kissing the back of Kyle's neck.

"That was completely different."

"Why?"

"Because I want it to be, and besides, I feel absolutely no guilt over anything I've done."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me in the slightest."

After Mark had held Kyle for awhile he'd slowly undressed him all the way, and after he'd prepared Kyle softly and slowly, he'd fucked him for what felt like hours, taking his time and whispering his name; his voice begging him to love him and only him.

"Why can't you just forget about him?" He'd asked softly after they had finished for awhile, and Kyle was slowly drifting off to sleep.

Kyle had just pretended to be asleep and didn't answer, but inside his confusion and guilt were slowly killing him.

*****

Hours later, after Mark had roughly fucked him up against the headboard, Kyle woke to see that the room was awash in the hazy purple colors of dawn; the sun just starting to glow beyond the curtains. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and blinked the sleep out of them, and turned to see that he was alone in the bed.

There weren't any noises coming from the bathroom, so Kyle gathered a blanket around himself and walked to the balcony door. When he opened it, he stepped out onto the chilly balcony and saw that it too was empty. Sighing, he looked up into the sky, soft with the coming morning, and he watched as the lonely, little stars winked out one by one, a feeling of alienation settling inside of him. He hated waking up to an empty bed, and as angry as Mark was at the moment, he wanted his arms around him. Looking out across the grounds toward the town that was in the process of waking up, he thought of Stan and knew he was probably still asleep, all curled up in his cozy twin bed.

Inside the room, he heard a door slam and he turned to the sound. Mark was there and he was dressed in a t shirt and jeans, his face annoyed. He caught Kyle's eye and he frowned.

"You're going to make yourself sick standing out there without any clothes on. Get in here," he said.

Kyle walked into the room, the blanket trailing behind him as he shut the door against the cold. He glanced at Mark, who didn't just seem annoyed, but stressed too.

"Is something wrong?"

"We're going on a road trip. Get dressed."

Kyle just stared at him, completely taken aback.

"What are you talking about? Where are we going?"

Mark had found a bag in the closet and was stuffing clothes in it.

"Rebecca's gone."

Kyle watched as Mark packed the bag, his hands clenched on the blanket still wrapped around himself.

"Wait, what? Gone? Where'd she go?"

"To fucking Grand Junction, that's where." Mark grabbed his phone and his wallet and jammed them in his pockets. Stopping, he looked at Kyle, who still hadn't moved. "Are you going to move your ass? We need to get out of here; it's like 4 hours to Grand Junction and there's snow in the forecast for later on today."

"Uh, yeah. Sure." Confused, Kyle dropped the blanket and quickly dressed himself. He stayed quiet so as not to annoy Mark further. When he was ready, he sat on the bed and looked up expectantly as he watched Mark pulled things out of the drawers in the bathroom.

When Mark emerged, he picked up his bag and grabbed his car keys from his desk. He looked at Kyle, his face grim.

"Come on, let's go."

*****

Less than an hour later, Kyle and Mark were inside of a grungy little diner eating breakfast. Kyle quietly picked at his plate with pancakes and eggs on it, while Mark sipped a cup of coffee, his eyes focused on his phone.

"Okay, the snow is probably going to hold off for another hour or so, so that should give us enough time to at least get through Vail." He set his phone aside and picked up a piece of bacon. "God, I fucking hate driving through the mountains. A Jaguar is the dumbest car to have in a situation like this."

"Mark, you still haven't told me what's going on," Kyle replied, setting his fork down.

Mark finished chewing his bacon and took another sip of coffee, his eyes very dark as they regarded Kyle.

"Rebecca ran off to our dad's place. We're going to go get her and bring her home," he answered, simply.

Kyle almost choked on the orange juice he was sipping.

"Why did she go to your dad's? Isn't she still recovering from being in the hospital?"

Mark rolled his eyes.

"Of course she's still recovering, Kyle. I have no fucking clue why she decided to act like an idiot and run to that cocksucker's house. It's not like he's going to welcome her with open arms and beg her to stay."

"How do you know she's there?"

Mark stabbed a smidgen of pancake and brought it to his lips.

"Process of elimination. I went to her room and she was gone, and so is a lot of her crap. I checked her closet and her biggest suitcase is gone." He shrugged. "Where else would she have gone?"

"She could've gone to Wendy's house or something."

Mark shook his head.

"Nope, I already called her. Becky isn't there. I also had her call the other girls that Becky hangs out with. No dice." He took another bite of pancake. "I'm just glad I actually got Wendy's number. I never thought I'd have to use it, but it never hurts to have it, you know? Especially since Becky seems to like her so much."

Kyle was quiet for a moment as he watched Mark eat his breakfast, his face calm and unruffled. The look of panic had dissipated after they had gotten out on the road. Mark always seemed to relax as soon as he had control of a situation.

"Did you try calling Rebecca?" He asked, timidly. "Maybe she doesn't want you to come get her."

"I'll decide what Rebecca needs, Kyle. She's always doing impulsive shit like this and then she regrets it." He thought a moment. "Just like when she took Stan to the dance; she regretted that pretty quickly."

Kyle could feel himself becoming a little uneasy at Mark's words; they were just so cold. He decided that it was probably better that he not ask what he meant by that. He shifted on his chair, and the soreness in his body must have registered on his face because Mark smirked, watching him.

"I hope you hurt, Kyle. I like the idea that you have a constant reminder that I fucked you last, instead of that dickhead Stan." He sipped some coffee, his face relaxed. He looked at Kyle over the rim of his mug. "Do you know how many times I'm going to have to fuck you until I can deal with the fact that Stan touched you?"

Kyle blushed and looked down at his barely touched plate. Suddenly, his appetite was completely gone.

"Hurry up and eat your breakfast, Kyle. We need to get the hell out of here before the snow comes."

****

They passed the rest of the morning and early afternoon in silence for the most part, and Mark was right when they said they would manage to clear Vail before the snow really started to fall. They passed through it and the clouds seemed to be right on top of them, and Kyle looked over the edge of the road to see the town of Vail beyond, looking almost like a little European hamlet tucked away in the mountains. The craggy hills rose high on either side as they descended the highest point of the mountain, and the pine trees were stark against the fog and vapor rolling in.

As they continued to drive further from the Rockies, the landscape changed and gave way to the mesas and deserts of the area right outside of Grand Junction. It was around this time that Mark finally chose to speak, his tone of voice matter of fact.

"Let me tell you a story about my father, Kyle. Would that be okay with you?"

Kyle nodded and glanced at Mark, tension rising in his gut even though Mark seemed so calm.

"When my parents first got divorced, Rebecca was very concerned about our father being lonely, so you know what she did?"

"No, what?"

"Well, we used to have a cat. Did you know that?"

Kyle shook his head.

"Rebecca got the bright idea that our father might be less lonely if she let him have our cat for awhile. You know, just to help him get used to living alone. God, what was that cat's name?" He thought a moment, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. "Oh, that's right, her name was Eponine. You know, like the character from Les Miserables?"

"I guess, Kyle replied. Then shyly, "That's actually my favorite musical."

"Anyway, Rebecca fucking loved that cat so I was amazed when she was willing to part with it. I tried to talk her out of giving Eponine to our father but she insisted, because she wanted to make sure our father would be okay. Do you want to know what happened next?"

"I'm not sure," Kyle replied, honestly. Mark's voice seemed oddly unconcerned, but Kyle had reason to believe it was false.

"Well, I got a call out of the blue one day from our father, which was already surprising because that asshole never calls. Anyway, he was calling just to let me know that he had Eponine put down, and he wanted me to make Rebecca aware."

Kyle just stared at him, his eyes wide.

"You're kidding."

"Nope. He took my sister's beloved cat and had it put down, and do you think he had the balls to let her know before he did it?" He laughed but there was no humor in it. "Of course not. And he didn't have the balls to tell her about it either. That became my responsibility, because that shit always has to be my responsibility."

"God, how did she respond?"

Mark's face became grim.

"About as well as you would expect. He had Eponine's ashes delivered to the house about a week later, and I hadn't seen the urn until I went looking in Rebecca's closet for her suitcase this morning. That's what made me think of this story." He turned on his blinker and merged into a turn-off. "I kind of just wanted to share that story with you because I wanted to give you an idea of what our father is all about. Did it help?"

Kyle nodded, still shocked that a father could be so callous with his own children.

"That's why I don't want Becky living with him, Kyle. Our dad will destroy her, because he just doesn't fucking care. He's about himself, and I'm pretty sure he was so eager about letting our mom have custody because he feels like he's already paid his dues. Now he's living his life for himself, not that that's so different from how he always operated."

They lapsed into a tense silence as Mark traveled through the arid, snow-blown landscape, and the red mesas loomed monumentally on either side of them. Finally, he pulled into Grand Junction and he was studying his phone as he navigated the streets, searching for a hotel for them to stay in. Mark pulled into the Howard Johnson parking lot, and stopped the car, studying the hotel's iconic orange roof.

"I guess this place is as good as any. We won't be here long anyway."

They climbed out of the car and walked into the lobby, and as Kyle looked around at the retro interior, he felt lonely and lost, and his mind drifted to memories of family road trips when he'd been a child, eating at Shoney's and staying at Super 8's as his family drove across states that they had no intention of stopping in on the way to their destination. Kyle would look out the window, especially late at night, and study the houses that flew past and he would wonder about the people who lived in them, and whether or not they realized that someone was thinking about them as they passed along the highway.

They checked into a shabby room and after laying their bags aside, Mark decided that it was time to take a shower so they did, and Kyle almost felt refreshed for a moment. After they had slow, leisurely sex in one of the uncomfortable double beds, Mark had gathered Kyle to his chest and kissed his forehead.

"Let's take a nap before heading over to my father's house, okay? I don't think I feel up to seeing him right now."

Kyle just nodded and snuggled against Mark, enjoying the smell of the cheap motel soap wafting from Mark's skin. In his pocket he could feel his phone start to vibrate with a call coming in, but he ignored it; wondering idly if Stan was trying to call him so they could discuss the night before. Instead, he fell asleep in Mark's arms as the snow began to fall heavily outside, covering up the world and making it quiet for awhile.

****

Hours later, they were back on the road and it was almost like getting lost inside of a snow globe; the flakes sifting down and covering all of the red earth and sand. Mark was quiet and tense as he drove, and Kyle huddled in the front seat as nondescript music played in the background.

Finally, Mark turned onto a road and Kyle perked up to see a sign advertising a vineyard that was a few miles away in the direction they were driving toward.

"Hey, there's a vineyard not too far from your dad's place," he said, pointing at the sign.

Mark rolled his eyes while carefully navigating the car through the snow haze.

"Great, we can take the tour after we pick up the shattered remains of my sister."

Kyle became quiet at his response, and he gazed guiltily out the window as they wound through a twisty two-lane road. After awhile, Mark spoke again.

"I'm sorry, baby. I just really don't want to do this. You get that, right?" He reached out and rested a hand on Kyle's thigh.

"I get it, Mark. Don't be sorry. I was being kind of thoughtless."

They came to a stop in front of a little house nestled in the desert drifts, scrub and sparse patches of grass already being covered in snow all around it. Rusty antique farm equipment lay in the dirt close to the mailbox, also slowly becoming covered in snow. Mark stopped the car and laid his head back against the seat, and when he turned his face to Kyle he was amazed to see fear registering in Mark's eyes, and he realized this was the first time he'd ever seen him truly afraid.

They sat for a moment in quiet, the sound of millions of snowflakes scraping the car on every side. Mark stared at the house, and his grip on Kyle's thigh tightened every so often. Finally, he looked at Kyle and the fear from before was starting to filter away, and the same stoic expression he usually had returned.

"Well," he said, softly. "I guess it's now or never, right?" He smiled at Kyle and reached for the door handle.


	25. Chapter 25

**Charles Dickens would often start his novels with the birth of the protagonist and, being a favorite author of both mine and Chris's, I would duplicate his style - if I could. But he was a genius born to write without difficulty while I find every word I put down, I put down with tears, with bitter blood, with sour gall, well mixed and blended with shame and guilt.**

**-VC Andrews, Flowers in the Attic**

**********

**As always, comments are appreciated!! I need to know that I'm not the only one reading this fucking insanity, lmao. Praise or criticism; I'll take it all! xD**

*********

 

Kyle never thought that the simple ticking of a clock could fill him with so much apprehension.

He sat on a white couch stitched with patterns of delicate carnations and considered the cuckoo clock ticking away on the far wall; it was made of dark wood and quite intricate in its details.

Mark noticed what Kyle was looking at and studied the clock too, his face impassive.

"Black Forest," he said, and his voice made Kyle jump because up until that point the only sound in the room had been the clock itself, ticking away. "He got it in Germany years ago; that's where his side of the family is from."

Kyle nodded, and his eyes strayed around the rest of the parlor they sat in. An upright piano rested against a wall, with knickknacks laid on its top, but his eyes fell on the pictures hanging above it. They appeared to be delicate ink portraits of Rebecca and Mark when they were children, and they had a Victorian quality; capturing how large their eyes were in their heart-shaped faces. Kyle glanced over to the cold fireplace and saw another picture hung above the mantle, this one a crude painting that looked like it had been done by a child. His eyes fell on a messy scrawl in the corner and saw that it was signed "Mark."

"It's funny, isn't it? It's like he needs all this shit around to remind him that he has children," Mark said, sitting back and crossing his legs. "God, I can't wait to get the fuck out of here."

Mr. Cotswolds entered the room then, wearing a tan woolen sweater and chocolate brown slacks. He had the figure of most middle aged men, with all of his weight in his stomach, and a hairline that was already starting to recede quite badly. He carried a couple of bottles of Dad's Root Beer tucked under one arm, and a glass of water in the other. He handed the bottles of soda to Kyle and Mark and then sat, sighing heavily. He frowned, suddenly, looking down at the floor, and Kyle noticed Mr. Cotswolds was nudging the fringe of the oriental rug with his slippered foot.

"Mark, there's a comb in that drawer there," he pointed. "Get it for me, please."

Wordlessly, Mark reached into the side table drawer and produced a bright orange pick comb, and handed it to his father. Mr. Cotswolds leaned over and combed the fringe until it was perfectly straight, sat back up, and handed the comb back to his son. Mark put it back in the drawer and glanced at Kyle, rolling his eyes.

"So, this is certainly a surprise," Mr. Cotswolds said, not for the first time. He took a sip of his water. "You two are lucky that you caught me when you did; I was just about to start catching up on 'All Things Considered' and you know how preoccupied I am when I'm listening to it, Mark."

Mark just nodded while studying the bottle of root beer in his hands.

"It's strange having a full house again, I must say. What with you and your sister suddenly appearing out of nowhere. It's a little hard to wrap my head around all of this."

Mark's face was cold when he spoke, the hand holding the bottle starting to shake.

"You can't be too surprised that Becky showed up, dad. She just got out of the hospital. She just wanted to see you." He narrowed his eyes at his father. "Becky has had a really rough week and I'm pretty sure she's just looking for your support."

"Mark, I'm well aware your sister was in the hospital. Your mother called me the night she was admitted. "Mr. Cotswolds shuddered. "What a terrible phone call to get in the middle of the night, and it didn't help that your mother was in hysterics."

"Her daughter just tried to kill herself, dad. You can't really expect mom to be calm while dealing with all of that," Mark seethed, and Kyle recognized the rage building. He drew into himself and drank his soda, wishing he could be anywhere else.

Mr. Cotswolds drank more of his water and looked at his son, his eyebrows knitted together in what almost looked like an expression of confusion mixed with distaste.

"Well, your mother only has herself to blame, don't you think? After all, you kids never pulled stunts like this when we all lived together. Maybe if she wasn't working all the time she'd be there to make sure stuff like this doesn't happen."

Kyle glanced at Mark and could see that the hand that wasn't holding the soda was clenched in his lap, and his eyes were taking on the dangerous quality he assumed when he was starting to detach from something that bothered him.

"Mom's doing just fine, dad," he said, and his voice was deadly soft. "In fact, she's done more for us in the last 10 months than you've done in the last 17 years. You couldn't even bother to come see Becky at Christmas, and she really wanted to spend the holiday with you."

Mr. Cotswolds drained the rest of the water in his glass and set it aside. He frowned at his son and he still seemed so blank; so removed.

"I sent you both presents, didn't I? I made sure they got to you well before Christmas, too." His face changed, and suddenly he became animated. "What did you think of the books I sent you, Mark? The Rabbit series by Updike? I really thought you'd get a kick out of those; I just couldn't put them down myself."

Kyle glanced at Mark questioningly, having never heard of these particular books. Mark set his bottle aside and crossed his arms before answering.

"I already owned them and read them, dad, but I'm not surprised you didn't know that." He glanced at Kyle. "They're about a guy who's trapped in a loveless marriage and a shitty job, and how he basically breaks free of the confines of his boring, worthless life." He looked at his father pointedly. "You can see why my father likes them so much. Doesn't art always imitate life, dad?"

Mr. Cotswolds cleared his throat and the animated expression as well as the blankness fled from his face; now he looked exactly like his son, cold and predatory.

"You better watch your smart mouth, son," he said, softly. "Don't forget you're in my home right now, after showing up unannounced."

Mark leaned forward.

"I just came to get Becky, dad. I'm only dealing with you because I really don't have a choice."

Rebecca appeared then, breaking the tension that was so thick in the room that it almost choked Kyle, and she looked tired and worn down. She was dressed in yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt, her hair up in a bun. As she walked closer to the lamp Kyle could see a flash of silver at her throat, and he realized that she was wearing her collar. This detail made a tiny wave of nausea bloom in his stomach. When she came into the light from the dim hallway and saw Mark and Kyle sitting there, she stopped, and she assumed the look of a deer caught in the sights of a hunter's gun.

"Mark, Kyle, what are you doing here?" She asked, walking slowly into the room.

Mark stood up.

"We're here to get you, Becky. Get your stuff so we can leave." He went to take her hand and she jerked away.

"I'm not going with you, Mark," she said, her voice trembling. "I'm staying here. Right, daddy?" She glanced at her father with beseeching eyes.

Mr. Cotswolds shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"We'll talk about it, sweetheart. You're certainly welcome to stay for the next few days, as long as your mother doesn't have a problem with you missing school."

Rebecca glanced at her brother.

"See? I want to stay here for awhile, okay?"

Mark just stared at her for a moment, and even though his father and Kyle were sitting right there watching, he reached out and touched Rebecca's collar, and his voice was gentle when he spoke again.

"You don't mean that."

Rebecca stepped away, a look of revulsion on her face.

"I do mean it, Mark. You need to give me some space right now." She glanced over her brother's shoulder at Kyle, and her face was impossible to read. "I have a lot of crap I need to work through."

All of a sudden, the sound of the sliding glass doors in the kitchen could be heard opening, and a high-pitched female voice was breaking through the room.

"Robert? Robert, where are you?"

A willowy woman walked into the room and stopped when she saw the crowd, her blue eyes wide with surprise. She had thick blonde hair that was in a braid over her shoulder, and she was dressed in an olive green pea coat and bell bottoms. Removing her cherry colored hat and scarf she looked around, her eyes settling on Mr. Cotswolds.

Mr. Cotswolds stood and went to her and placed an arm around her waist. He turned to Mark and his face was stern as he looked at his son.

"If you can be civil, Mark, I'd like to introduce you to my fiance, Holly."

Holly stepped forward and extended a hand, her smile warm and inviting.

"Hi, Mark, it's really nice to meet you. Your dad talks about you all the time."

Mark just stared at Holly's hand like it was some radioactive substance. He glanced at his sister who pointedly tried to avoid making eye contact, opting instead to settle herself on the couch with her legs tucked underneath her. Finally, Mark seemed to come to his senses and he accepted Holly's hand, but his face was still the very definition of shock.

"Your fiance?" He finally managed to ask, letting go of Holly's hand.

"Yes, son. We're getting married in the summer." Mr. Cotswolds looked down at his fiance indulgently. "I was actually hoping that you and Rebecca would be able to come; it's going to be in June right before we leave for our honeymoon in the Canary Islands."

Mark sat down heavily and just stared at his father and Holly, seemingly unable to even formulate a sentence. Holly looked at him and appeared to become uneasy, so she turned to Mr. Cotswolds and asked him if he'd help her off with her coat.

"My back is just killing me today," she explained. "I barely feel like I can move, and the store was mobbed because of the storm coming in. I'm exhausted."

Mr. Cotswolds gently helped her take off her coat, and what was revealed when it'd been removed sucked all the air out of Kyle's lungs. Holly's belly was full and ripe, and her hands came down to rest on it like it contained the most precious thing in the world. Kyle glanced over at Mark but he was so floored that he was clenching his hands on the sofa like he was about to detonate into a million pieces. Rebecca just sat there quietly, her eyes on her hands folded in her lap.

Mark stared at Holly for what felt like hours until he finally tore his eyes away and stood. He reached out a hand and helped Kyle to his feet, and then he turned to his father.

"Do you have any rope?"

Mr. Cotswolds was visibly taken aback by this question.

"Well, sure, I think there's some in the tool drawer. Why?"

"I've been having some issues with the trunk of my car, and I'm thinking I might need to tie it closed so it doesn't fly open. Can I borrow some, please?"

"Of course. Here, let me get it for you." Mr. Cotswolds turned to leave but stopped. "You aren't leaving, are you?"

"Yeah, Kyle and I need to get out of here before the storm makes the roads worse. I hate driving in this stuff."

"Oh, yes. Well, I'll go grab you the rope. Excuse me."

******

That night, after they'd returned to the motel room, Mark bound Kyle's hands behind his back and fucked him until he thought he was going to bleed. By the end, Kyle felt raw and used and whimpered for him to stop, but Mark seemed to be caught in a frenzy, and he gripped the back of Kyle's head as he roughly fucked his mouth. Shuddering, he came, and Kyle tried to pull back at the last minute, causing Mark's come to spray across his face and in his hair.

"God, you look hot like that," Mark whispered, and he pulled Kyle up from the floor. "I love seeing you covered in my come, Kyle."

He led Kyle to the bed and Mark lay down, roughly pulling Kyle on top of him so that he was straddling his hips. Reaching up, he brushed some come off of Kyle's face with his hand and placed it in Kyle's mouth.

"Suck," he instructed, simply, and Kyle did until saliva and come made Mark's hand sticky.

Mark reached back and thrust his fingers into Kyle making him groan, and with his hands tied behind his back he almost couldn't keep himself upright, but Mark's hand rested on his hip to steady him. He opened up Kyle with his hand and prepared him with a lubrication of come and saliva, until Kyle was panting and begging to be fucked.

Brutally, Mark pulled Kyle down onto his cock in one quick thrust, instead of inching into him like he normally did. Kyle was still for a moment with his eyes wide and his mouth open, trying to register the feeling of Mark being buried in him completely, but before too long Mark was moving inside of him. This wasn't the tender sex that they'd had in the past; Mark was out for blood that night, and he fucked Kyle until he was screaming.

In between thrusts Mark laughed to see Kyle moaning and writhing on top of him, and he snapped his hips upward viciously over and over again and he could feel his come leaking out of Kyle along with his saliva; all over the skin of his pelvis and thighs.

"This is for everything, Kyle," he gasped. "For Stan, for my dad, for Rebecca, for fucking everything. Get ready to have your walls painted white."

Kyle threw back his head, unable to make a sound, as Mark lifted him up and savagely pulled him down harder onto his lap than he ever had, and he felt Mark's body tense as he shot his load inside of him, filling him to the brim until he was whimpering incoherently with his head lolling on his shoulder; completely spent and wracked with pain and fatigue.

***

Kyle woke up hours later with his body screaming, and he could hear a faint tapping at the door that caused Mark to stir as well. Mark turned on the lamp and stood from the bed, going over to the window next to the door; he pulled the curtain aside and looked out.

"Motherfucker," he whispered, and he was quickly unlocking the door and letting Rebecca inside.

"Becky, you're freezing," he said, closing the door and embracing his sister tightly. "What are you doing here?"

Rebecca just clung to her brother and sobbed and sobbed like her heart was breaking to pieces right there.

"Mark, daddy never had any intention of letting me stay with him," she cried, her face pressed against Mark's chest. "He said that he wanted to talk to mom about having me sent to a residential treatment center for long-term care." She stopped, her sobs becoming too big to handle. "I don't want to go to a place like that, Mark. Please don't let them take me there. Please!"

Kyle was amazed at how tenderly Mark handled Rebecca after the violence he'd displayed just a few hours before. He led her to the bed and lay her beside Kyle, who was taking everything in with weary, watchful eyes. Snapping off the light, he climbed into bed so that he was between Rebecca and Kyle, and he pulled his sister close while she cried in the darkness.

After awhile, Rebecca's sobs turned to moans, and Kyle could hear rustles in the darkness that sounded like clothes being removed. Soon, Kyle could hear the sound of bare skin slapping against bare skin, and the bed was moving as Mark fucked his sister, and her tiny cries broke through the quiet of the night, and the sound chilled Kyle as he rested his hand under his cheek. Mark said his sister's name like it was a mantra that was keeping him sane, and before too long they were crying out together as they finished, and the room became silent again as they came back to reality.

In that moment, all Kyle could do was close his eyes and think of Stan, and he hoped that wherever he was on that cold night that he was happy and content. He wondered idly if Stan was thinking of him in that moment too, and smiled at the idea of somehow being reunited in their dreams. Kyle fell asleep with Stan's face in his mind that night, even as Mark's hand snaked over to grip his thigh tightly.

*****

"I have to go get the tires checked after breakfast, so I'll be gone for a little bit. Will you guys be okay?" Mark asked, looking up from a cup of coffee.

It was the next morning and the snow had finally stopped. Kyle, Mark, and Rebecca were sitting in the Howard Johnson's restaurant eating breakfast when Mark posed this question. Kyle and Rebecca glanced at one another, and they both turned to Mark and nodded silently.

"Good, I shouldn't be long. I might take care of a few others things too before we leave this afternoon." He picked up his phone to check the time. "In fact, I should probably get going now."

Mark stood from the table and came over to kiss Becky's lips.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" He asked, softly.

"I think so," she said, smiling limply. There were dark circles under her eyes and she looked so tired that Kyle was surprised that she was even able to stay awake long enough to eat.

Mark looked at Kyle, and his eyes were still tender, but they also had veiled aggression behind them.

"Take care of her, okay? I'll be back soon."

He left the restaurant and for awhile, Kyle and Rebecca sat in silence. Idly, she began to tug at the bandages on her wrists while watching Mark climb into his car and drive away; her face wistful. Suddenly, she turned to Kyle and her eyes were so bright that he almost thought she was crying.

"Did Mark ever tell you about our first time, Kyle?" She asked.

Kyle just stared at her, completely taken aback by this question.

"Yes," he finally managed to say. "He did. I mean, he didn't go into excessive detail or anything, of course." He looked down at his food, feeling uneasy.

"Did he tell you I was a virgin, Kyle?"

Kyle's head snapped up.

"No, he said that you weren't, but that he wished you were." Kyle looked down at his food again, not being able to comprehend the conversation he was having. He thought of Stan and wished that he would come save him from all of this.

"Well, I was," she said, and her tired face took on a dreamy quality. She toyed with a straw, sliding it in and out of a glass of ice water. "My very first time was with him, even though he thought I'd been with so many people." She thought a moment. "I guess on some level I always hoped that it would be him, Kyle. I was so embarrassed at the time, though, you know? So when he saw the blood on the bathroom counter I told him it was from my period."

Suddenly, she reached out and clutched Kyle's hand; showing an amazing amount of strength.

"I love my brother, Kyle. Do you? Do you honestly love him?"

Kyle winced at how hard she was gripping his hand.

"I-I think I do, Rebecca. Can you loosen your grip a little? You're hurting me."

Her hand slackened, but only slightly. Rebecca's eyes were still frightfully bright, waiting for an answer.

"I love parts of your brother," Kyle said. "There are some things about him that I can't really come to terms with though."

She pulled her hand away.

"I know that I keep trying to run away from Mark, Kyle, but I'm finally starting to realize that there is no life for me if he isn't there. Mark is my life, and he always has been. Whenever I've needed someone to save me, he's been there. He's what I need, and I want to make him happy, too; in the same way." Her gaze turned angry.

"Why don't you just let him go, Kyle? If you're not sure about him? If you can't love him completely, why love him at all?" Abruptly, she stood from the table and left the restaurant, leaving Kyle to stare after her in complete shock.

*****

Mark was gone for the rest of the morning and into the late afternoon, until Kyle started to wonder if he was coming back at all. He and Rebecca spent the day watching TV and napping, although Rebecca spent a fair amount of time fretting over her brother.

Finally, after the sun was already starting to slide down the sky while leaving a trail of crimson brilliance in its wake, Mark's key could be heard in the door, and he was entering the room in a hurry. Kyle and Rebecca watched as he made his way to the bathroom without slowing down at all, his hands jammed in the pockets of his black coat.

They exchanged a look and Kyle rose from the bed, silently being elected to check in on Mark. He knocked at the bathroom door lightly, and was surprised that it opened with one easy twist of the doorknob. Jaundiced light assaulted his eyeballs as he stepped into the bathroom from the dimly lit bedroom, and when his eyes finally adjusted he sucked in his breath to see what Mark was doing.

Mark was standing at the sink and rinsing his hands, the water the same color that Rebecca's bathwater had been when she'd tried to kill herself; the pink roses swirling down the drain. On the back of the toilet a bloody knife was resting, the yellow light of the bathroom bouncing off the red chunks as they congealed on the blade. Calmly, Mark continued to wash his hands as Kyle stared, open mouthed.

"Mark," he finally managed to whisper, even though his throat had become horribly dry. "Mark, what did you do?"

Mark looked up as he continued to wash, and he studied Kyle in the mirror, his face detached from any wrongdoing or blame. He dried his hands on a towel and turned to grab the knife, and through the smear of blood the metal sparkled wickedly in the bathroom.

"I was taking care of old business, Kyle," he replied, simply, as the pink swirls fell down the drain and disappeared forever.


	26. Chapter 26

"How are you feeling today, Kyle?"

Dr. Boyer always started their sessions the same way; an inquiry into his current state of mind as well as the offering of hot mint tea. Kyle was glad to accept the tea, but her question was another matter.

"I'm the same as the last time you asked that question." He looked down at the tea bag floating in his mug; at the delicate leaves becoming bloated with moisture.

"Ah, okay." Dr. Boyer was quiet for a moment; serene, really. Everything about her presence invoked a sense of calm, even down to the lighthouses hung up on the walls of her office. She jotted something down on a pad resting on her knee. "How have you been sleeping?"

Kyle looked up from his tea, considering the question.

"Like shit. Just like always."

"Hmm," she replied, jotting something else down. "Can you think of any reason why that may be?"

For whatever reason, the doctor's question filled Kyle with so much rage he could barely stand it. It wasn't like she didn't know his history, it wasn't like everybody didn't know his fucking history at this point; she should've known what was keeping him up at night. Just the night before, he'd finally been able to drift off around 4am but it had been brief; he started awake after visions of bloody hands filtered through his dreams. The hands were gripping his waist as he was being fucked from behind, and when he glanced over his shoulder, he could see Mark there, smiling; just smiling and so deceptively calm.

"I have bad dreams sometimes," he finally said, but even that felt like it was too much information.

"Would you like to tell me what's in the dreams, Kyle?"

He set his cup aside and stood, restless now. Kyle walked to the window where he slid one of the blinds down, and he had to squint his eyes against the harsh sunlight pouring through. Springtime was imminent in South Park, and the stubborn snow drifts were finally starting to melt away little by little.

"Do the dreams have that person in them? The one we talked about last time?" She asked, gently. For some reason, the gentleness in her voice made Kyle angry too, because what if it was a lie? Everything else seemed to be, and no one was ever who they seemed. Or, in Mark's case, people were exactly as they seemed even if you chose to ignore all the signs and red flags.

"Maybe." Kyle never mentioned Mark by name, but during the last session he'd finally alluded to his influence over everything that had happened in the past few months. It was in passing, but Dr. Boyer had grabbed onto the information because it was the first real detail Kyle was willing to give. Talking about Mark to anyone except for Stan seemed like an insurmountable task at this point, but the weight of his presence in Kyle's brain was making him crack a little more everyday.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Kyle noticed Dr. Boyer lay her pad aside and clasp her hands on her lap, a turquoise ring shimmering on her left pointer finger.

"Kyle, I can't help you if you won't tell me anything. I just need a little more from you, okay? You can tell me whatever you want, as long as you start to talk. Can you do that?"

Kyle turned from the window when the sun became too much for him to bear, and he glanced at her. He wanted to trust Dr. Boyer but he just couldn't, even as she sat there watching him with such a kind, open face. She'd never given him reason not to open up, but he couldn't. Whenever he felt like he wanted to try, he would imagine Mark's bloody hands from that last awful night in the motel, and he'd see the red-smeared knife on the back of the toilet and he'd want to vomit.

He'd been coming to these therapy sessions for months now, and in that span of time they'd made very little headway; although, Kyle could at least function these days. He still couldn't sleep very well but at least he was eating a little more; his appetite returning in fits and starts. His mind often traveled back to those dark days months and months ago when he first discovered the bruises Mark had left, and the implications they contained; noticing the similarities in his breakdowns. Now the bruises were finally gone but the pain was worse because it was inside of him; always there and always aching.

Kyle sighed and took a seat, watching as the steam from his tea curled upward and faded away. After the seconds turned to minutes in the quiet office, the only sound heard emanating from a white noise machine, he finally scraped together enough courage to ask a question.

"Can kids be sociopaths?" He asked. "Like, teenagers?"

Dr. Boyer's eyes widened a little at his question but she quickly smoothed her face out into its usual passive state.

"Yes, though they're rare, and doctors really hesitate to diagnose children and adolescents as having an antisocial personality before the age of 18." She studied him for a moment and reached over to pick up her pad again, slowly writing something down. "But, yes, even though they aren't formally diagnosed teenagers can exhibit sociopathic behavior just like any adult."

Kyle picked up his mug and fiddled with it, feeling uncomfortable about looking at Dr. Boyer directly while talking about this subject; one that he'd mulled over many, many times during the long nights that he couldn't sleep.

"What makes them that way? Like, are they just born crazy?"

She shook her head, and even this gesture was gentle and calm.

"No, Kyle. The jury is still out, but the general consensus is that an antisocial personality is usually created through a combination of nature and nurture. An individual's genetics and environment play a huge part in shaping them into what they ultimately become."

"Is there a cure?"

"No, not really, I'm afraid. Depending on the severity of the condition the most that can be done is trying to control their predilections, but the person in question needs to be willing to receive help, and work with their doctors." She paused, and tapped her lip with her pen. "I'm just curious, Kyle. What brought about this topic?"

He continued to look into his mug of tea, refusing to answer. Dr. Boyer continued probing, but her tone was careful; almost fragile.

"Does this have anything to do with that person?"

The room seemed to fill with tension after she posed this question, though Kyle was sure that Dr. Boyer didn't feel it; it was all inside of him. He could almost feel himself beginning to float again, and the hateful memories started flooding back: bloody hands, collars, handcuffs, fear, pain, Mark throwing him down on the bed and-

Kyle shook his head and almost started crying.

"Kyle? Kyle, are you okay?" Dr. Boyer asked, and for the first time in the session she sounded worried.

He looked up at her finally, and he was afraid that she'd see the tears that were slowly building behind his eyes. Kyle shut them and winced against the burn.

"I'm just so afraid," he finally whispered. "All the time."

******

Mr. Cotswolds survived the attack from his son, and really, he wasn't even that injured; having sustained a deep stab wound in his arm. He lost a fair amount of blood and was in the hospital for a couple of weeks, but it wasn't anything life threatening. This was taken into consideration when Mark was being charged and sentenced, of course.

It came to be revealed that Mark had gone over to his father's house that day just to talk, but the conversation became heated and Mr. Cotswolds attacked his son by throwing him up against the counter in the kitchen. Mark, in his fear, had grabbed a knife from the holder on the table when his father advanced on him, and had protected himself by stabbing him once, and then dropping the knife when he saw what he'd done. In pure shock, he'd fled the scene after picking up the knife. Holly had found her fiance laid across the floor in a pool of his own blood, and had been the one to call the paramedics as well as the police.

Bits and pieces of the story filtered back to Kyle over the weeks following the incident, and with every detail he heard the more sick he became. It hadn't been too long after Mark returned to the motel and was washing the blood from his hands and the knife that a knock came at the door, and Mark had looked at Kyle with a smirk before manufacturing hysterical tears in a matter of seconds. He huddled on the bathroom floor and screamed like his heart was breaking, like a wounded animal, and that's how the police found him after Rebecca opened the door. Kyle could remember the way the blue and red lights lit up the motel room as they walked Mark out of the bathroom to one of the police cruisers parked outside.

Kyle supposed it was those completely insincere tears that were one of the final pieces in the puzzle defining Mark's personality. He'd been calm and collected until he heard the knock come at the door, and then all at once he had managed to morph into a completely different person; the very face of remorse and misery. Kyle still couldn't figure out how he'd managed to do it, but the fear inside of him became so large that it swallowed up everything else; that was the moment he knew that Mark was merely a construction of charm, darkness, and complete disdain for anything remotely decent.

Mark had received a slap on the wrist for his transgression, once it was proven that his father had attacked him, and a history of physical and emotional abuse was established. Rebecca was all too willing to sell her father out if it meant protecting her brother, especially because he had just been trying to protect her; or that's what Mark wanted everyone to believe at any rate. Their mother sobbed into a handkerchief in open court as she spoke of her husband's vile treatment of their beloved twins, and everyone turned on Mr. Cotswolds almost immediately.

It would seem that the golden boy of the Cotswolds family could do no wrong, and the media and the town of South Park rallied around the attractive, intelligent, well-to-do young man as his father was crucified in the press. Mark became a tragic hero in the eyes of society, and while he had to undergo an extensive psychiatric evaluation and was ordered into therapy for an unspecified amount of time, he came out on the other side of his crime smelling sweet as a daisy. If anything, he was better off having committed the crime, because even the kids who hadn't liked him at school were suddenly more understanding of his flaws; he was damaged from years of abuse and fear so, really, who could blame the poor guy?

Kyle could only watch all of this transpire with a sinking heart and a growing sense of fear. With every misunderstanding on the part of town as to what Mark was, he gained new insight. He kept thinking back to that smirk and those crocodile tears and suddenly everything made so much sense. A part of his brain that had been asleep for too long was suddenly waking up, and he was becoming more and more preoccupied with self-preservation. Now when he avoided Mark he did it completely, and he made it a point to never be alone with him or taken in by his superficial charisma.

Stan, for his part, was one of the only things that kept Kyle together as the weeks passed and it became more and more clear that Mark could almost commit murder and still be considered squeaky clean. He, like Kyle, wasn't fooled by Mark's talent of conning the world at large, and he stuck close to Kyle even though he'd turned into a zombie; his fear immobilizing him until he could barely function. He'd been ecstatic when Mrs. Broflovski finally put her foot down and told Kyle that he was going to counseling whether he wanted to or not, even going so far as to drive him to each of his appointments after he finally got his car running again.

They'd usually drive out to Starks Pond after Kyle's sessions and just look at the sun going down, and enjoy the soft breezes of early spring wafting across their faces. All around them the earth was coming back to life, and though it was cliche, Kyle could feel himself starting to come back to to life as well, little by little. The winter had been a hard one, but he thought that maybe he could finally start healing, so long as Mark would leave him alone.

"Has he bothered you at all?" Stan asked as they sat on a bench and stared out at the waters of the pond, finally rippling and frothing as they continued to thaw.

Kyle gazed out at the mountains, admiring the golden light of the sun as it descended and filled the snows on the summits with fire. He nodded slightly.

"For the most part. I can still feel him watching me all the time, and he tries to text me every now and again, but he hasn't tried anything crazy."

"Not yet," Stan said, grimly. He put his arm behind him on the bench and Kyle could feel his heart waking up like a sleeping animal; pounding in his chest but in a delicious, exciting way.

They weren't together, not officially, but they'd made an unspoken agreement to one another that they would try to come back to where they'd been during the summer months, when everything had felt so new and full of raw promise. Kyle was too afraid to give into any type of intimacy at this point, and even when he began to think of kissing Stan he'd start to feel nauseous. His hand would clutch at his throat and he could swear that he felt the collar there; the belt slowly tightening. He desperately wanted to feel clean again, but he knew that that would have to come with time, and every moment he spent with Stan made him feel slightly more purified.

Kyle tentatively rested his head against Stan's shoulder and sighed when the fear didn't immediately take hold of him. Glancing up, he watched Stan's profile as it was washed in the glow of the dying sun and he ached inside; he couldn't believe that Stan could still be so loving with him because he knew he didn't deserve it. Closing his eyes, he tried to forget everything for a little while, and he breathed deep the smells of the gathering twilight, their heady aroma mixing with Stan's comforting, reassuring scent.

*****

Kyle was careful for a very long time as far as Mark was concerned, but after awhile he began to stop being so vigilant, especially after Mark hadn't made any overtures for several months. Sure, he could feel Mark watching, always watching; in class, in tutoring, during lunch. Every moment Mark's eyes seemed to be pinned on Kyle, but there was very little he could do so long as Kyle was surrounded by friends, and Stan worked double-time to make sure that Mark never had an opportunity. It also helped that Rebecca was obsessively attached to her brother's side, even more so than before, and it made Kyle sick to see that she'd started wearing her silver collar to school.

It was early evening, and Kyle had just gotten out of another session with Dr. Boyer. He waited patiently for Stan to pick him up like he always did, but after about five minutes of leaving the doctor's office he received a phone call. Surprised, he picked up, and there was Stan's voice, sounding crackly and a little muffled.

"Kyle? Kyle, can you hear me?"

"Yes, Stan, I can hear you. What's going on?"

"My fucking tire blew out and I'm stuck on the side of the road. I'm going to have to put the spare on but I wanted to let you know that-"

And the phone went dead. Frowning, Kyle tried to call Stan back, but the call went immediately to voicemail. He sighed, annoyed; Stan was always forgetting to charge his phone. For a moment, he thought he might call his mom to come get him, but Kyle decided that he didn't want to bother her. He was also starting to feel restless and he didn't want to wait for Stan to come. He'd been hiding and keeping to the shadows for months now, and he just wanted to be able to breathe. Impulsively, he decided to walk to Starks Pond and wait for Stan there; somehow, he knew that he would come and they could watch the sunset like they always did after Kyle's therapy sessions.

It almost felt like the shackles of the last couple of months were slowly falling off as Kyle walked to the pond, and he filled his chest with the evening air, suddenly feeling alive and not as broken. Passing through town, he smiled at the people who walked by, relishing the feeling of being almost semi-normal for a moment. He made it to the outskirts of the forest surrounding the pond and he smiled while looking up at the trees just beginning to become cloaked in leaves; like kings and queens dressed in royal garments, heralding the spring. He took his time walking through the forest, and the smells of the earth and its secrets filled him with an all-consuming euphoria.

Stopping at the edge of the water, he watched the waves roll across the surface and his mind drifted back to the day that he'd had it out with Stan, and how he'd laid in the middle of the pond and watched the sky open up over top of him. Vividly, Kyle could recall the misery that had spread like poison through his veins in that moment, and he could remember the sadness and fear that had seemed to overshadow everything when he'd been with Mark. Sure, there had been times of crazy, giddy joy, punctuated with desire and an all-consuming fire that drenched Kyle's skin, but he realized now that the drawbacks of being caught in Mark's web were too profound. Mark was a predator through and through, and Kyle realized he'd fallen for his lies hook, line, and sinker.

He was in the process of kicking himself once again for being so stupid and naive when he heard a rustle behind him, and Kyle turned to see what it was, expecting an animal or maybe even Stan; coming to find him. What he saw made him freeze in terror, and he could feel all of the blood draining from his face and involuntarily, his hands started to shake.

"Mark," he said, and his voice was so faint that it almost got lost in the early evening air.

"Hey," he smiled, and it was really very bewitching; almost like it had the capability of paralyzing someone so they couldn't move. Kyle felt that way now, and he watched, his body already starting to tremble.

"I knew I'd catch you out here by yourself sooner or later," Mark said, walking closer. "You're certainly a creature of habit, Kyle, so your patterns aren't really hard to figure out."

"Why are you here?" Kyle asked. "I don't want you here. I'm meeting Stan."

"Of course you are, and I'm sure he'll be along before very long. I would like to talk to you, though, if you don't mind."

Kyle tried to fight down the revulsion that flared inside of him when he felt the old feeling of arousal pulsing in his gut. Mark's voice was so smooth; everything about him was so easy and laid-back. His charm was effortless, like he'd been built to be the perfect weapon.

"What about?" He finally managed to ask.

"Why are you running from me, Kyle? I know it's not really what you want."

Kyle clenched his fists.

"You have no fucking clue what I want, Mark. You just tell people what they want and you expect them to obey; like Rebecca. You have her completely brainwashed."

"Rebecca knows that I'm the best thing for her, but she's not the topic here and you know it. I'm talking about you."

Kyle's fear was starting to become mixed with rage.

 _There he goes_ , he thought. _Always having to control the fucking direction of any conversation._

"We're done, Mark. You're fucking insane, and it makes me sick that you can almost murder someone - your own fucking father, might I add - and still be completely untouched. It's unbelievable."

"Mm, I guess I can see where you're coming from," Mark said. "It must be very frustrating to see someone go after what they want and actually get it. I knew that if I wanted to make a point with my father I'd have to do it before I turned 18." He smiled a grotesque smile. "The justice system is so much kinder to you before you become an adult."

"Why can't you just leave me alone, Mark?! You have your sister, Christ, you have fucking everything! You never have to pay for anything you do, you never have any actual consequences so why can't you just go and live your life and let me live mine!"

"You're mine," Mark whispered, and his face had lost any kind of amusement. It was cold, and Kyle could remember seeing it like that so many times, and he was finally able to move; stepping back. He was now on the edge of the pond, with nowhere to really go. "I told you that already, and I'll decide when this is over." He gazed at Kyle and an almost wistful quality came to rest in his face. "God, I can still remember the last time I fucked you. Can you, Kyle? It almost feels like it was yesterday, your arms tied behind your back and your face just begging for it."

"You're disgusting," Kyle said, starting to feel nauseous because Mark's words made him remember too. "If you don't leave me the fuck alone I'll tell everyone about you and Rebecca, and I'll tell them that you planned to attack your father, because I know you did. I could see it in your face when you started crying those bullshit tears!"

Mark came toward Kyle then, just like he'd done so many times before, and he gripped Kyle's wrists until he was crying and pleading with him to stop. He had almost successfully dragged Kyle to the treeline when a rustling was heard and the sound of footsteps moving through the grass like they were running.

"Get your fucking hands off of him!"

All at once Stan was there, and he punched Mark so hard across the face that he let Kyle go immediately, and he was staggering and falling against a tree. Stan clutched at Kyle and drew him into his arms, and Kyle was moaning and crying as his heart beat violently in his chest. He breathed in Stan's scent and tried to calm himself, but the terror and sadness was washing over him again more overwhelmingly than it had in the last few months, and every moment that Mark had brutalized him filled up his mind until he was almost screaming.

Mark was still for a few moments, holding his mouth as it bled profusely, but before too long he was smiling and the blood was almost filling up his mouth. He stood, brushing off his clothes, and he pulled his hand away from his face to study the red smear left behind. He started to laugh and the sound was so crazy that Kyle thought he was going to completely lose his mind, though he was pretty sure he'd been losing it for months now.

Stan held Kyle closer and narrowed his eyes at Mark, his chest heaving from running and putting everything he could into the punch that knocked Mark on his ass.

"You better fucking leave him alone, you psychopath; because if you don't, I promise I'll kill you." Stan's hands tightened on Kyle's shoulders. "And I'm not like you, Mark. I'll fucking finish the job."

Swiftly, Stan led Kyle back to his car, and even though Kyle was still sobbing he could hear Mark's laughter continue on, until it was filling up the sky, the night, the trees; until it consumed everything in its path, destroying it.

*****

That night, Kyle let Stan hold him closer than he had in awhile, and after he stopped crying and trembling they lay in silence as the little fan on Stan's desk whirred; ruffling the papers scattered there.

"Are you going to be okay?" Stan asked, hugging Kyle to his chest like he was afraid he'd break.

"I don't know," Kyle said, his voice still thick with tears. "I'm starting to think I'll never be okay, you know? Like I'm completely ruined."

"You aren't ruined, Kyle," Stan said, softly, and he dared to kiss the nape of Kyle's neck, making him freeze up. Thoughts of Mark doing the exact same thing made him want to gag, but he pushed them down.

"It's always bothered me though," he said, idly, continuing to kiss Kyle's neck. "Why didn't you ever tell anyone about what we thought Mark did? I mean, from what you've told me, he definitely drugged you the first time you hung out, and we both know he planned to attack his father."

"I don't know. Fear, I guess," Kyle replied. "It's a powerful feeling, being under someone's influence like that. It's almost like Mark managed to take away everything that used to make me feel happy or secure," he whispered. "I mean, we're lying here and I feel so safe with you, but I'm still afraid, you know? Everything we do together was something I could've done with him." He frowned. "Don't you think?"

Stan was quiet for awhile, thinking.

"No," he finally said. "Kyle, you might have had sex with Mark, but he didn't love you while you were doing it. Not really."

"Do you think he can really love anyone?"

"I don't know. Probably not. I think he thinks that he's loving people, but it's not the good kind of love. It isn't the type that makes you a better person, or makes you happy." He drew Kyle closer and nuzzled his cheek against his hair. "His love isn't like the love I have for you, Kyle."

Kyle almost started crying again when he heard these words.

"How can you still love me, Stan? Really, how can you? I chose Mark over you, even though I knew it was wrong. I fucked up beyond redemption, and you're still here. Why?"

"Because we were always meant to be like this, Kyle. Love isn't perfect, and I get that, and I don't expect you to be perfect either. I mean, I don't really know what to say beyond that, and I can't really explain why I feel this way, I just do. It's the same as taking another breath, or knowing that the sun is going to rise tomorrow. I just know, just like I always have."

They lay together for awhile, just listening to each other's breaths for what felt like hours, but Kyle never wanted to leave. He hadn't felt so clean, so right, since the last time they'd been in each other's arms like this, and he almost felt like he could start to breathe again; and he felt refreshed. Kyle tentatively turned his head to glance at Stan and before he knew what he was doing, he was kissing Stan's mouth carefully, his tongue tracing his lower lip.

Stan responded, his hands traveling over Kyle's body and filling him up with the light of all those golden afternoons from the past, and before too long Kyle was moaning and allowing Stan to undress him; and his hands were so tender and full of love that Kyle sighed. When Stan slipped into him that night, Kyle kissed his gasping mouth and some of the darkness from the past few months finally started to slip away; the sunshine pouring in and beginning to heal the pain.

As Kyle fell asleep in Stan's arms that night, watching the moon as it rested in the crook of the windowpane, he knew that he wasn't okay yet, and that he wouldn't be for a very long time, but at least he had begun. Whether or not he'd ever be the same remained to be seen, and Kyle wasn't sure that he even wanted to be the person he'd been before, someone naive and too trusting; a person capable of hurting someone who loved him so much.

Kyle was just on the brink of sleep when Mark's face flashed through his mind, and he could see those cruel eyes and his bloody hands, and he was sobbing because he couldn't understand how someone could be kind when he'd been sick and afraid, and then been capable of spilling another person's blood, and gloating about being smart enough to get away with it. He pressed a fist against his mouth and cried, but Stan was there holding him tight; whispering in his ear that eventually everything would be alright. Everything would be okay again someday.

 

 ~~THE END~~  
(of part one, i guess. lol, Don't mind me. I'm losing it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who joined me on this ride and saw it through to its conclusion. I can safely say that this story veered radically from my initial vision, but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. I'd love to hear anyone's thoughts or opinions if they'd like to share.
> 
> Once again, thanks for reading and allowing my fucked up imagination to hopefully entertain you and chill you or whatever, lmao. :D It's been really fun!!
> 
> PS: This story fucked me up and took a toll on my soul, lmao. Mark, you're my boy, but you need help, brother.
> 
> PPS: Stan and Kyle? Peace out, boys. I wish you many, many happy returns and a million more golden afternoons. Kyle, you always knew which D was the best.
> 
> PPPS: Okay, i fucking lied. this isn't the end, haha. also, it is 'PPPS', right? I don't know, i never got this far before. 
> 
> HOWEVER, i like this afterward or whatever because it still stands - i do wish stan and kyle many happy returns, kyle loves the Stan D (as well he should), and Mark you need serious heeeelp but you're so fun to write, boy. xD


	27. Part II; Mark's POV - One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, I'm a fickle bitch, you guys.
> 
> After thinking about it, I decided the story felt unfinished, at least from Mark's perspective. I don't know, maybe I could write the rest from Mark's perspective & this could be like part II? I felt bad about abandoning my favorite little sociopath. I mean, maybe Stan and Kyle think everything is okay but that doesn't mean Mark is done playing the game, right? lmao. I dunno, hopefully some of you guys will come along for the ride, but I'm afraid to say that Mark's perspective won't be quite as...nice as Kyle's? How do i describe it? He's crazy so, read at your own risk, I guess.
> 
> LOL, sorry for the fake out. Don't hate me. :D

He lay in the darkness and he could almost feel the moon glowing outside, could see the stars throbbing through the curtains, and suddenly he needed a cigarette more than anything in the world.

Sitting up, he threw his legs over the edge of the bed and sighed for a moment, and it's almost like he could smell Kyle on the sheets and his heartbeat increased a fraction; not much, but enough to make him almost have to catch his breath. He had really started to get used to having him in his bed pretty much every weekend, and the emptiness he felt when he saw the pillow devoid of the red curls and the sleeping, peaceful face made him angry. Now he really needed a cigarette; maybe it could help him calm down.

Mark rose from the bed and stumbled through the dark, could hear the fish tank in the corner gurgling away, and he tried to ignore the hangover headache building behind his temples. He'd had too much whiskey after coming home from his confrontation with Kyle and Stan at the pond, and he was hoping that the alcohol would ease the ache in his face from where that fucker had punched him. Rage flooded through him at the humiliation of being surprised again by Stan, whom he'd decided long ago was beneath him in every conceivable way. He was also angry with himself for knowing on some level that Stan would appear before too long, but it had been so long since Kyle had let his guard down and wandered into open territory; he'd had to take his chances, right?

Walking out onto the balcony, he didn't even bother to put a shirt or pajama pants on, enjoying the night breezes stirring against his skin as he stood there in his boxers. Mark lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, not only of the smoke but of the air that was heavy with impending spring, and he started to feel his head clearing. The stars were out in droves that night, their multitudes marching across the sky like vigilant sentinels, and they too helped to clear his mind. It seemed like, no matter what, no matter how angry he was or how frustrated, the stars could almost swim in his blood and slow him down, just like booze or weed or pills. At least they didn't make him feel like shit the next morning.

Kyle had made him feel that way for awhile too, and he started to feel that dreamy, sleepy quality that overtook him whenever he thought about Kyle's pink lips parting as Mark slid into his tight heat, the little gasps that escaped through those same lips as he started to slip in and out of him. Regardless of how he'd come across, sometimes Mark enjoyed the slow, soft sex they had, almost as much as he'd reveled in the rough fucking that made him hard just remembering it. It'd been months since he'd had Kyle in the motel room, and the very thought of driving into that fragile, white body was enough to make his mouth water; almost like he'd been deprived of his favorite meal for years.

As he finished his cigarette and slipped the butt into an empty beer bottle he kept next to the door, Mark made a quick decision that satisfied him with its simplicity: he needed to get off, so he would. He'd already made another decision earlier in the evening, and it naturally involved continuing to keep tabs on Kyle. Things couldn't end this easily, of course; he couldn't let them. Just like Becky, Kyle needed to be led to the truth, and Mark was the one to decide what that was. People were idiot sheep that were always looking for the right leader, and he'd figured out long ago that even if they were resistant at first, sheep always fell in line.

That's not to say that he didn't have a certain amount of tenderness for Kyle and Becky; they were just frustrating. He couldn't understand why they couldn't just listen and do as they were told. Becky was finally beginning to behave the way she was supposed to, especially since he'd knifed their cocksucker of a father, but even she liked to protest on occasion. Mark passed through his room and into the hallway, his cock already beginning to stiffen up at the idea of seeing his sister asleep, and he could watch her for awhile before he woke her by climbing in beside her.

Thoughts of their first time flitted back to Mark as he entered her room, as they often did when he visited her in the middle of the night. She'd been so sweet and innocent then, her nature belying the dangerous healthy curves of her body. Her breasts had been so heavy in his hands; so warm and full. He'd squeezed them as he entered her, and he could still remember the gasp of surprise she'd made when he'd slid into her for the first time, and her heat and wetness had almost been as divine as Kyle's had been the first time he'd had him.

Mark was fully erect before he'd even made it to Becky's bed where she lay, snoring softly, her breasts rising and falling with every steady breath. He admired her so when she was asleep, and he always compared her to an angel when he saw her this way. She was his angel, his Becky, and the spray of soft, chestnut curls that fell across her pillow gave off a heady perfume, and he lifted a heavy strand and brought it to his face, sighing. Whenever he had her in his own bed she had a habit of spraying the underside of her hair and her neck with her favorite perfume so that the scent of roses was left behind when she left in the morning. Mark would press his face to the still-warm fabric after she departed and he would breathe deeply of this scent, and his heart would fill with an almost violent longing.

He watched her sleep for a few moments, and his eyes drifted to her smooth shoulders, her delicate collar bone. In many ways she was as finely structured as Kyle, especially after she'd come home from the hospital. She still curved in all the ways and places that Mark adored but something felt lighter about her after she tried to kill herself, and he had had to be gentler with her. For whatever reason, he didn't want to see the same bruises on her skin that he adored seeing on Kyle. His eyes lingered on the long, pink scars on the undersides of her slender forearms and while he didn't truly understand why she'd put them there, it still bothered him greatly to see them. In many ways, Mark thought of his sister as being very breakable and he loved her all the more for it. 

Slowly, he reached out a hand and slid the lacy coverlet away from his sleeping sister, revealing the virginal white nightgown she liked to wear to bed; tiny pink rosebuds nestled in between her breasts. The sight of those little flowers almost made him salivate, because as innocent as she looked in her little girl nightgown, Mark knew that beneath that sheer fabric were satin panties and silver nipple rings, and the thought made him want to hurry and be inside of her. He drew the covers all the way down her body, and after she was completely uncovered, Becky began to stir, her eyelids twitching as she moaned in her sleep. Her eyes fluttered once, twice, and then they opened completely.

"Mark," she whispered, and her voice was husky and full of sleep. "Can't you sleep? Are you okay?"

Oh, how he loved her for this too; this concern, even in the middle of the night. Mark slid his boxers off and lay beside her, and she gladly turned to him when he lifted her nightgown to slide his hand across her belly.

"I woke up to smoke and look at the stars and I thought of you," he said, his hand drifting upward to settle on her naked breast, his fingertip toying with her nipple ring. She moaned and arched into his touch, already so flushed and warm.

"I was hoping you'd come to me tonight," she murmured, and she kissed his lips. Mark could taste her strawberry lip gloss and it was more than he could ask for at 3 am when all the stars in the world were converging at the window.

Suddenly, she pulled away, studying his face.

"Mark, what happened to your mouth? It's all bruised and your lip is swollen." Her soft fingers touched him gently, and he knew she was trying with all of her might not to hurt him, even accidentally.

At first he was going to lie but he didn't see what the point was; he was going to be angry either way. He was a little disappointed that she'd noticed, he'd wanted to be tender with her so much because the stars had made him feel so relaxed.

"It was Stan," he replied, and he lapped at her mouth until she opened her own, their tongues coming together.

"Stan?" She asked, in between kisses. "Why did he hit you?" She stopped, frozen. "What did you do, Mark?"

"I saw Kyle alone in the forest and I just tried to talk to him. His fucking watchdog wasn't too happy about it apparently."

"Kyle." Rebecca said, quite simply, but it was cold all the same. A chill entered her voice and Mark knew she was on her way to becoming angry, or maybe she was already there. "I thought you were done with Kyle, Mark. He won't even talk to you."

"He's just dealing with everything, Becky. You know, all the crap that's gone down in the past couple of months." Mark turned her face toward him because she'd tried to move away, and he kissed her again; relishing in the sweetness of her taste.

Rebecca pulled away.

"He doesn't love you, Mark. He told me so." She turned over on her side, refusing to look at him. "Why are you wasting your time?"

Mark was quiet for a moment, his anger beginning to rise. Reaching out, he grabbed her upper arm and pulled her onto her back.

"Rebecca, I can manage my own affairs, okay? I didn't come here tonight to have you criticize me." He reached down and slid his hand into her panties, making her gasp as he slipped a finger inside of her. "I came here for this," he said, and he smiled to see his sister's eyes close as pleasure made her cheeks flush.

With aching precision, Mark slid another finger inside of Rebecca and stroked her warm softness, and the wetness on his skin made his erection that much harder. To see her mouth part as she gasped from being touched like this filled him with the power he craved and needed; he'd seen this look on Kyle's face many times - the panting, hungry little moans. Mark stroked his sister until she was thrusting her hips against his hand, and he knew she was ready.

Sliding her panties down over her legs he threw them away, and it was with a dark longing that he parted her full thighs, and he could see how needy she was to accept him; her musky scent filling his nostrils. Mark raised her nightgown so he could see her heavy tits bouncing upward as he entered her slowly and with easy care, the glow from her nightlight glinting on her nipple rings. Thoughts of Kyle lying beside her in this very bed the night they'd been discovered came to Mark, and he shuddered from trying not to come as soon as he filled her up completely.

Rebecca didn't realize it but it was Kyle's face that Mark saw that night as he fucked her gently, her breathy groans warming up his ear and neck as he wrapped his arms around the back of her neck. It was Kyle's name that Mark wanted to say as he slid into her, and she gripped his sides with her strong thighs. He tried to remember that he was fucking the woman he loved but Kyle was swimming in his blood, in his veins, and he could remember the way he looked that evening standing next to Starks Pond, and all Mark had wanted to do was drag him into the woods and fuck him in a forest clearing. Crazily, he wanted to lock Kyle away in his house and never let him go, keeping him all to himself so he could satisfy his cravings whenever he needed to, and oh, god, he needed to; it'd been so long.

Anger ignited in Mark as he was reaching his peak, as he balanced on the cusp of coming inside of Becky's comforting warmth, and all he could think of was Stan and the way that he'd held Kyle, his Kyle. Mark knew that Stan had taken Kyle home that night, was sure that they were fucking even as he thought of them, and the rage that engulfed him was enough to make him speed up his thrusts until Rebecca was gasping from his strength, and her breasts bounced against Mark's chest. As he came that night, after one final, aggressive thrust, Mark was thinking of Kyle when he'd been sick and he'd taken care of him. As he pulsed inside his sister he could remember fucking Kyle from behind, the delicate little bird bones shifting and moving under that pale, untarnished skin.

As he held his sister that night he knew that he couldn't let Kyle go, and he would do everything in his power to bring him back; to make him see reason. Kyle just had to be led to the truth, after all, and Mark could be very persuasive.


	28. Part II; Mark's POV -Two

Spring passed with very little incident, which Mark found extremely frustrating.

 He kept thinking back to the night he'd stood on his balcony and contemplated the stars, of ending the night by fucking Becky but dreaming of Kyle, and the promise he'd made to himself that things couldn't end like this. Since then, few developments had been made because he could never find an opportunity. Kyle was vigilant this time around, and he never went anywhere without being surrounded by his friends, and even more annoying, was Stan's constant presence.

 Mark's hand clenched around his pen as he sat in class and pretended to listen to the teacher's insipid lecture. He didn't need to listen to this bullshit; he already knew it. Sitting back, he tried to calm himself by chewing on the end of his pen, and he looked across the room where his eyes settled on Kyle, who was actually listening and taking notes. The warmer weather had given everyone reason to put their heavy coats away, and Kyle was no exception, and Mark relished watching his slender arm as it moved with everything he wrote. He was wearing one of the thin t shirts he seemed so fond of, and with every movement Mark could imagine those frail bones, that delicate flesh.

 His thoughts drifted away from the room he was in, and suddenly he could remember one of his favorite moments that he'd spent with Kyle. Mark had kept things simple that night, and he'd bound Kyle's arms behind his back and had him kneel naked on the floor, waiting. It was the anticipation that Mark loved so much, so he'd just watched Kyle for awhile, admiring his slender vulnerability. The fact that Kyle had been wearing his collar just made him seem so much more exposed, and Mark could remember it wrapping around that fragile throat. He could feel himself starting to get hard at the memory.

After awhile, Kyle had started to become restless, though he hadn't moved away from his spot, and Mark missed that complete obedience so much, especially sitting there in that stuffy classroom, watching as Kyle wrote his notes and treated him with total disregard. Mark continued to chew on the end of his pen as he watched Kyle, but his mind was gone from that room. He could almost feel himself pulling Kyle up from his bedroom floor and pushing him onto the bed on his stomach, so he could admire his ass, his slim, perfect back. His teeth bit down hard on his pen as he remembered fucking that tight, yielding flesh, and he suddenly wanted to get up from his chair and throw Kyle over his desk and take him right there, in front of everyone. Who cared what these fuckers thought?  
  
"Mark? Mark, are you with us?" The teacher asked, snapping him out of his fantasies.

 He allowed himself to be surprised for a moment, but he quickly assumed his unruffled persona, even as he seethed on the inside. Fucking Kyle in his thin t shirt that drew attention to his stiff little nipples.

 "Yes," he replied, simply.

 The teacher regarded him for a moment, and he knew that she would back down. His grade in this class was almost perfect, so she really had no reason to get on his case.

 "Will you do the next problem on the board?" She pointed to the chalkboard where an equation waited that Mark could do in his sleep.

 "Of course." He stood from his seat and placed the chewed-up pen on his desk. Mark made his way to the front of the room and while he could feel the weight of his classmate's eyes on him, he didn't let the sensation make him feel nervous. This whole situation was so pointless.

 He solved the problem easily, and his teacher didn't seem surprised, just a little annoyed that he hadn't been paying attention, and she knew it. Mark wondered idly if she felt this way because she knew he didn't need her to teach him anything. When he turned from the chalkboard his eyes went directly to Kyle and stayed there, and the look of fear that was on Kyle's face secretly thrilled him, even though it was profoundly frustrating.

 I don't want to hurt you, not really, he wanted to say. Why was it so wrong to want to possess someone completely? Wasn't that love? Wasn't the idea of owning someone and keeping them away from the world beautiful? Mark knew he could keep Kyle safe from everything if he'd just let him.

 Mark gazed into those forest green eyes for a moment and he wasn't surprised to see that the fear gave way to a latent desire, a heat that he could feel from across the room. Kyle still wanted him, no, he needed him, and even though he refused to see or admit it, Mark would be the one to show him the truth.

 He would be the one to bring Kyle home.

 ****

 The biggest issue was getting Kyle by himself, Mark knew. He just needed an opportunity to talk to him, explain himself, even though he'd never felt compelled to explain his actions to anyone in the past. He'd mulled the problem over for weeks and he just couldn't seem to come up with a solution, until he noticed something that might benefit his situation.

Eric Cartman was a formidable person in his own right, and Mark considered him to be brash and loud, but there was more to him than that. Most people would assume that he was stupid, just from listening to him rant on a regular day, but Mark made it a point to listen to Eric; just listen and absorb. Mark was particularly interested in how Eric treated Kyle, and their relationship seemed to be one that was filled with animosity, but there was more, so much more. Mark could feel the sexual tension between them from across the room, and he began to think that he could use this knowledge to his advantage.

 Kyle had told him in the past how much he simply detested Eric, but Mark hadn't really given it much thought. His mind was usually focused on burying his cock in Kyle as soon as possible, so he wasn't always receptive to conversation. But now, as the weeks unfolded and he observed, he could see that they did indeed hate each other, but it was so obvious that the hate was steeped in sexual repression that he couldn't believe he'd never noticed it before. Even something as simple as disagreeing about the weather was enough for the two to go off on one another, and they'd begin to fume and rant, their heated exchange almost making the two of them combust.

 Mark was especially amused to see that Kyle and Eric's ongoing feud didn't seem to cause an issue with their friends. In fact, it seemed like everyone just openly accepted it and didn't want to get involved. Their eyes would almost glaze over when the two would start arguing, and even Stan would sigh quietly and look away, almost like he was wishing he were anywhere else. It was true that Kyle had a fiery personality, so it made sense to Mark that Stan had just learned to live with it, rather than fight against it. Mark was starting to think that part of the reason he was so drawn to Kyle was this stubborn streak he displayed; he just liked to fight, to be right. It stood to reason that there was some enjoyment in fucking a person like that; forcing them into some kind of submission that was contrary to their personality.

 Kyle was such a puzzle to Mark. When he saw him face off with Eric Kyle didn't seem like anyone who could ever be tamed, but when Mark got him in the bedroom and snapped those handcuffs on him, he was more than willing to bow to his whims. He wondered if that would be the case with anyone, or was Mark just lucky enough to have tapped into Kyle's overwhelming need to be controlled? Who even knew at this point?

 It took awhile of careful observation for Mark to finally decide that Eric was a pawn he could use, but even before he approached him he knew he would need to tread carefully. Eric was rough, of course, but he wasn't the idiot everyone took him for. Mark could see the dark streak in Eric's personality as easily as he could see it in himself, and he almost felt like he was gearing up to have a conversation, make a proposition, with himself. It wasn't until the end of April that he felt desperate enough to make a move, mainly because the dreams and fantasy of having Kyle back in his bed were almost more than Mark could stand.

 He waited until after school one day, and the hallways were essentially emptied out, and he saw Eric skulking out of detention to use the bathroom. Mark followed him, and when he stepped into the room and saw that it was the same bathroom where he'd fucked Kyle up against the wall, he could feel arousal stirring inside of him. Kyle brought out a raw desire in Mark that almost took his breath away, and while the sensation could be so amazing at times, it was just frustrating at this point. He looked at the end stall and imagined pushing Kyle up against the tiles and really giving it to him, fucking him until he squeaked and cried, and Mark could feel his hands clenching up and his mouth watering.

 Eric was in one of the middle stalls and was taking his sweet time, so Mark waited for him, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. When Eric finally emerged, adjusting his jeans and wearing an irritable expression, Mark just smiled at his look of sudden surprise to see him there.

 "What the fuck do you want?" He asked, going to the sink and turning one of the taps. The hissing sound of the water filled the room.

 Mark watched him for a moment, watched Eric's thick hands as they passed under the water; discoloring the light pink flesh on them. His eyes flicked to the mirror and he studied Eric's reflection, too. He could vaguely remember Eric being a little fat kid when they were still in elementary school, and while he was still of a larger stature than most of the students, his girth didn't seem to be from fat anymore. There was a heavy musculature under his extra weight, and his arms were massive from what Mark could only assume were hours of weightlifting. Eric had almost a handsome quality now, and the darkness in his personality showed on his surface in small ways: shrewd eyes, a calculated look, a tension in him like he was always ready to pounce. Mark decided that he liked what he saw, because he could use it.

 "I have a problem," Mark finally said, still studying Eric's reflection.

 Eric's eyes flicked up from the sink and they were filled with an amused understanding. He shut off the water and turned to Mark.

 "It's the Jew, isn't it?"

 Mark was taken aback at his abruptness, but he didn't show it. Instead, he nodded.

 "Kyle has been a fucking thorn in my side since we were babies," Eric said, drying his hands. "So this isn't anything new to me." He looked at Mark, an eyebrow raised.

 "Weren't you fucking him for awhile there? I'm pretty sure I heard that you two were going at it like goddamn rabbits or something."

 Mark cleared his throat and fought back his sudden irritation. Sure, he could be crude, but there were lines you didn't cross. There were rules, for Christ's sake. He willed himself to play nice.

 "We had a relationship, yes."

 Eric smirked.

 "I see that he's back in Stan's pocket these days, though I'm not surprised. I've always gotten the impression that Kyle was into jocks, and I think he gets off on being smarter than Stan, so he's the one calling the shots." He shrugged. "Although, from what I've heard, they're just fucking right now and aren't official, but really, what's the difference with those two?"

 His eyes glazed over for a moment as he seemed to lapse into deep thought. Mark just watched, waiting.

 "What was it like to stab your dad?" He finally asked, and now Mark was really off-balance. He'd never expected a question like that in the context of this conversation.

 "It was enlightening," he said, slowly. "Personal. I was surprised at how much force you actually have to use to push a knife into someone." He thought a moment, considering. "People seem so soft, you know? But, really, they're not."

 "Kyle is soft, isn't he?" Eric asked, and a crazed light was there in his eyes. He almost looked hungry now.

 Revulsion was seeping into Mark's mind at the turn this conversation was taking, but he supposed it couldn't be helped. It wasn't like he hadn't already figured Eric out.

 "Yes," he said, and his voice was soft and wistful. "Kyle is very soft. He's probably the best I've ever had." Mark almost felt guilty saying that, and he thought back to Becky and her white nightgown, the roses between her breasts; that gorgeous scent she left behind on his pillows. Suddenly, his arousal was really starting to make itself known, and he wanted to see what his sister and Kyle would look like pushed up against the bathroom tiles at the same time.

 Eric seemed to take this information and almost taste it, and his eyes closed like he was savoring everything Mark had said.

 "What do you need from me?" He asked, his eyes opening slowly. "You've never talked to me in the past, so you must need something. Right?"

 There was the Eric Cartman intelligence Mark had taken note of, and he smirked. Eric was no fool, not really, but he still wasn't too smart for Mark not to be able to control him.

 "You're right, Eric," he said, and he smiled his most winning smile; the disarming one.

 "I need you to help me."

 *****

"I fucked Wendy for the first time during her Halloween party."

Mark stared at him, a small cup of cheap coffee held loosely in his hand. He hadn't asked Eric anything that would lead to this sort of declaration, but there it was, hanging in the air. He nodded and took a sip of his drink, grimacing at its inferiority.

"We'd been, uh, dabbling around the equinox for awhile, you know what I mean?" Eric picked up a fry and popped it in his mouth, his eyes elsewhere, remembering. "She wasn't a virgin but she was still tight, you know? I have no idea who got to her first but she still felt good. I lasted for a good long time, of course," he said, smirking. "I'm pretty sure she never did anything with Kyle's big dick boyfriend, though. Nothing like that anyway. He's always been all about the Jew, and really, I can't blame him."

Mark stayed quiet, listening. There was nothing he could contribute to this confession that wouldn't just serve to derail it. He was also fighting back the urge to punch Eric in the mouth as thanks for the less than subtle allusion to Stan's 'big dick.' Mark didn't even want to know how the fuck Eric knew how big Stan's dick was; this conversation was already going to be strange enough.

"You know, now that I think about it, Kyle and Wendy are really similar. They're both know it alls, always have to be right, always making sure to have the last word. God, and their annoying need to save everyone, Jesus Christ." He thought a moment. "I'm actually surprised they never ended up together, unless my suspicions are true and Kyle is actually as gay as a fucking picnic basket."

Mark fought back a laugh, pressing a hand against his mouth.

"I'm pretty sure he's gay, Eric. He made it pretty clear to me that he doesn't really care for girls. Maybe he thought that he did in the past, but that's not the case anymore." He lifted his eyes from his coffee. "I think Kyle knows himself a little bit better these days."

"Is that so?" Eric picked up his burger but didn't take a bite. "I hate that dirty Jew, and I've hated him for a very long time; our whole lives almost. But there's still something about him that I can't just get over. Does that make any sense?"

"That makes perfect sense," Mark murmured, and his thoughts were flooded with gasping, aching Kyle, begging for it; needing it. Kyle with those fever bright green eyes and that flushed, trembling skin. He shook his head and was back. "I feel the same way."

"So, what do you want?" Eric asked, abandoning his burger completely. He picked up his shake instead and sucked it down.

Mark studied Eric and decided he was in his element; the local Happy Burger. Mark had wanted to go to Harbucks or something similar, but no, Eric had dragged him to this place. He hadn't even bothered to take off his light coat because he wanted to keep this conversation brief.

"Kyle has been very hard to pin down lately," he explained, trying to be cautious. Mark knew that Eric lacked scruples, but how profound was his lack of morals? He couldn't be sure until he tested the waters. "I just need to talk to him, but he won't give me the opportunity."

"So you need me to flush him out into the open, or what?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

Eric considered this.

"I think I could do that." He trained his eyes on Mark and they were full of a savage understanding; an unsettling need. "But what do I get out of all of this? I don't make a move without some kind of reward."

"I can understand that. I'm the same way," Mark replied, smiling. "What do you want?"

"What you've already had, and I'm pretty sure you know what that is." Eric's brown eyes were bright, and for a moment they almost resembled Becky's when she was ready for Mark to fuck her; her mouth parted and urging him on.

Mark shook his head a little.

"I can't make that happen just because you want it," he said. Mark didn't back down when Eric's eyes became more crazed and direct. "But I might be able to open up an opportunity for you."

He reached into his pocket, pulled something out and placed it on the table, his hand still over top of it. Mark slid it towards Eric.

"This might help," he said, and he lifted his hand long enough for Eric to reach out and take it. Before Eric could draw his hand back, Mark had reached out and grabbed it, squeezing his fingers until he could feel them grinding together like little creaky pieces of wood. He smiled when Eric made a small sound in the back of his throat, and a fleeting light of fear slid through his eyes but quickly winked out.

"You need to understand what the situation is here, okay?" Mark asked, softly. "I'm willing to help you get your disgusting rocks off, but Kyle is mine, okay? Do you get that?"

Eric looked at him and then stared at his hand, at Mark's fingers gripping him like he wanted to crush the bones inside the flesh. He gritted his teeth and seemed to want to argue, but when he looked up at Mark's face again, something that he saw there made him take pause. Reluctantly, he nodded his head. Mark let go of him and sat back, his arms crossed.

"Good. Now that we're on the same page, let's talk, okay?"

Eric still stared at him, warily, and slid the object into his jacket pocket. Somewhere in the restaurant someone dropped a plate and it crashed to the floor, but he was so drawn in by Mark's presence that he didn't even turn his head. He just watched him, and waited for the plan to come to light.


	29. Part II; Mark/Kyle's POV -Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dude, you guys, this chapter was hella fun to write. I had to inject Kyle's POV at the start but it's cool, right?

**Got me looking so crazy, my baby**  
**I'm not myself; lately I'm foolish, I don't do this**  
**I've been playing myself; baby, I don't care**  
**'Cause your love's got the best of me**  
**And, baby, you're making a fool of me**  
**You got me sprung and I don't care who sees**  
**'Cause, baby, you got me, you got me so crazy, baby**

**-Crazy in Love, Beyonce**

*********

 

Kyle had never realized just how many cracks were on the ceiling of Stan's room. Specifically, the area right over his bed. He counted them slowly in his head, but he kept losing track every time Stan moved in a certain way, and then he'd have to start over.

Stan was gasping against his ear with every thrust, and while Kyle enjoyed the heat on his skin, he just couldn't stay focused. He was trying to focus on the cracks in the ceiling so his mind wouldn't turn to Mark, and the smoldering look he'd given him in class the other day. Before he knew it, his attention drifted from the cracks and he was back in pre-calc, and Mark was standing there staring at him; his dark eyes full of rage and a longing that was frankly terrifying.

 _He just seemed so calm_ , Kyle thought, as he idly wrapped his arms around Stan's neck, clutching him a little closer. _He's always so calm even though I know he isn't, not really._

Stan was kissing his neck now and Kyle moaned a little, turning his face away from the ceiling so he could give him better access. What Stan was doing to his body felt amazing, but his mind drifted regardless. This inability to control his thoughts, his impulses, infuriated him. Kyle loved Stan with all of his heart, but he knew that a small, sick part of his brain still loved Mark, and it desperately missed the things Mark used to do to his body.

Stan was moving faster now, and Kyle panted as his thrusts became a little deeper. He clenched around Stan's cock and he relished the little groan it elicited from him, even though, on a darker level, he wanted Stan to grip his hips and just fuck his brains out. He was just so tender, and Kyle appreciated that, but where was the frenzy, the violence? Why did he even crave those things?

_It's like I'm a fucking addict or something. All it takes is one little push and I'm back where I started; one stupid look during pre-calc. What the fuck is wrong with me?_

Kyle could feel Stan really tensing up now, and he knew that he was about to come, and suddenly his mind was completely back, in Stan's messy room and in his tiny twin bed. He gripped the sides of Stan's body with his thighs and readied himself for the heat to fill him up, and he wasn't disappointed when Stan shuddered and finished, his growling little moans igniting Kyle's blood and making him come as well. Stan dropped little kisses on Kyle's neck as he pulsed inside of him, and Kyle loved him so much for his gentility, for his careful, adoring love. He loved it as much as it frustrated him.

After, when Stan cuddled him to his chest, Kyle allowed his thoughts to stray to dangerous territory again, and he hated himself for it. He glanced at Stan and saw that he was on his way to falling asleep, and for a moment he could picture Mark there, his hand drifting to Kyle's neck to touch his collar, his arms wrapped around him, not letting him go.

Kyle had tried to introduce rough sex to Stan in small doses, but Stan just wasn't suited for it. He actually made it pretty clear that he didn't understand it, and the conversation they had just served to make Kyle feel more deprived.

"I don't want to hurt you, Kyle. That isn't what sex is about, at least, not the way I think of it. I thought sex was about making each other feel good. Am I wrong?"

Kyle had shaken his head and tried to be understanding even as the frustration was welling up inside of himself. Stan's warmth could be unbelievably attractive and so edifying, but he was astoundingly inflexible when it came to making things exciting on a physical level.

"Of course it's supposed to be about making each other feel good, Stan." He'd thrown his hands up and was suddenly unable to look at Stan directly. "It's just, we need to be willing to experiment; try new things. Don't you think?"

"I like what we do together," Stan had replied, looking a little hurt.

Kyle had tenderly touched Stan's face, and the guilt flooded him. Not just from hurting Stan's feelings but also from not being able to get fucking Mark out of his head, that goddamn sociopathic nympho.

"I like it too! I just think we should be willing to, uh, grow together, you know, from a physical standpoint. Discover new sexual horizons or whatever." He bit his tongue.

 _Did I really just say that?_ Kyle thought, cringing inwardly.

Stan had just stared at him.

"Did you really just say that?" He'd asked.

"God, just forget it, okay? I feel so fucking ridiculous and crazy right now."

This conversation had of course segued into Stan asking Kyle about his sessions with Dr. Boyer, which Kyle abhorred more than anything. He didn't even want to go to a fucking therapist, let alone talk about it at length outside of her office.

"Have you brought this stuff up to her?" Stan had asked.

Kyle rolled his eyes.

"I'm not going to regail her with the details of my sex life, Stan. I can barely talk to her about anything. Besides, why would this even be a subject I need to discuss with her?"

"Because it clearly bothers you, and besides, you're becoming, I don't know, kind of aggressive?" He stared at Kyle a moment. "Why are you always touching your neck like that?"

Kyle had taken his hand away from his throat quickly, trying to play dumb.

"What are you talking about? I was just scratching my neck."

Stan peered at him.

"No, you weren't. You're constantly doing that, dude. You start staring off into space and then you start rubbing your neck."

Kyle flushed. He hadn't even realized he was doing it, and he wasn't about to tell Stan about the collar; he'd never understand.

"Sorry, I just can't sit still, I guess."

"Are you sure there isn't something you want to talk about?" Stan looked down at his hands. "Like, stuff you did with Mark? I mean, I know I'm not as intense as he is, but I do want to make you happy."

His words made it feel like a jagged crack was making its way across Kyle's heart, and he came over to hug him, his face resting on Stan's cheek. Even as he held him close, he knew that he couldn't tell Stan about the things he'd done with Mark, or the way they made him feel; the way they continued to make him feel. He'd vaguely told him a brief overview of Mark's style a long time ago, but how could he explain the handcuffs, the collar, the ball gag, all of it? As Kyle remembered these elements of being with Mark, he could almost feel his hands gripping his hips, tugging him close. He wasn't aware that he was squeezing Stan harder and harder until he heard him groan softly.

"Oh, god, I'm sorry," Kyle said, loosening up a little. He stroked his cheek softly. "I don't even know how to explain Mark's methods, Stan. I don't think I can, okay?"

Stan looped his arms around Kyle's waist and sighed.

"Okay, I can understand that, but can you at least tell me how he made you feel? What about it did you like?"

Kyle thought a moment, still finding it so hard to explain.

"He made me feel completely possessed, I guess. Like he owned me and I didn't mind, in fact, I wanted him to." He sunk onto Stan's lap and nestled his head against his shoulder. "It was like he was absolutely sure of everything he was going to do, and what's more he seemed to already know that I'd like it. I bet that sounds crazy, huh?"

Stan shook his head.

"No, I just don't get how, even after everything he's done, he still seems to be in your head, controlling you. Are we ever going to be the same, you know, you and me?"

"I hope so," Kyle murmured. "It's what I want, but that's why I don't think it's a good idea for us to start officially dating again or whatever. Not to sound like Tweek, but I seriously don't think I can handle that kind of pressure right now. I also really don't want to hurt you again, but I feel so fucking weak."

Stan's hand dropped onto the small of Kyle's back, rubbing him there. A little shiver ran through Kyle and he smiled against Stan's shoulder.

"Everything's going to be okay, Kyle. I promise."

Slowly, Kyle drifted back to the present, and he could hear Stan's light snores stirring the quiet of the room. He clenched his hands by his sides and tried to forget Mark, but he was feeling so goddamn vulnerable, so raw. Dr. Boyer had prescribed him medication to help him sleep and to help with his anxiety, but the bottles were at home. Kyle was afraid of he didn't get to them soon he'd break down and walk to Mark's house instead of his own when he parted company with Stan. Before he knew it, he was shaking Stan awake.

"Stan, you work tonight, right?"

"Hmm, yeah, I do," Stan said sleepily. He picked up his phone to check the time. "In about an hour. Why?"

"I know it's warm outside and it's kind of out of your way, but can you drop me home on your way? Please?" Kyle pressed his hand against Stan's bare chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath the skin and bones; it was almost like it was pulsing in his fingers.

"Sure, yeah. Of course," Stan sat up and rubbed his eyes, his dark hair wonderfully tousled in that post-coitus way that Kyle adored. "Are you okay? You sound kind of manic."

Kyle shook his head and gripped his t shirt in his hands. He usually wore his t shirt while fucking Stan, he knew that he liked to clench it in his hands. Crazily, he thought of Mark and how he liked him to sleep naked, so he could touch every part of his body without anything getting in the way. Desire curled in his stomach but he tried to fight it back.

"I'm fine, I'm just tired."

Later that night, after Stan had dropped Kyle at home and after they'd lingered in the car to share a kiss that almost turned into more, Kyle had run upstairs and quickly taken something for his anxiety. He slid against his closed bedroom door and waited for it to kick in, but Mark was still there in his mind, and he couldn't fight him away this time. This time he realized it when his hand drifted to his neck, and he could feel Mark's fingers against his skin as he tightened the collar; preparing him for more. Before he knew what he was doing, Kyle had unzipped his jeans and his hand was inside his boxers, where he stroked himself until he came, but this time it wasn't Stan's name on his lips, it was Mark's.

He cried afterward, even though his meds had kicked in and he was relaxed from coming. Kyle just couldn't understand how Mark still had this hold over his mind, and he realized that Stan was right. Mark was still controlling him from afar, even though he hadn't been near him in months, Christ, they hadn't even had a conversation. All it took was one look from him, one look deep in his eyes and Mark was back in his bedroom, his hands tightening the collar around his neck; tightening the noose. It was almost like Mark wasn't just in his head; he was in Kyle's blood and bones. Even after all of the pain and blood and fear, Mark was still a presence hanging over him, shadowing his every move. He was starting to think he'd never be free, and all he could do was cry against his door as Mark continued to linger in his brain, under his skin.

*****

That same night, Mark was standing out on his balcony smoking a joint and trying to blow off some steam. He was annoyed, even though things were still progressing in a fashion he could be somewhat satisfied with. The stars were out in full force, much like the night he'd made the promise to himself regarding Kyle, and they were almost as calming as the weed. He took a long hit and sighed, resting his hands on the railing.

"That stupid fucker," he said, softly. "What the fuck was he thinking?"

Eric had been stupid enough to approach Mark at school earlier that day to talk about their plans, and Mark had had to resist the urge to smash his face into a locker. He hadn't even bothered to be discreet and when he had approached Mark he was looking all around, his face nervous.

"I need to talk to you," he'd said, glancing over his shoulder.

Mark had just slammed his locker shut and scanned the hallway, not answering him. He started to walk until he found an empty classroom, and he ducked inside, Eric following. Mark had just been glad that it was after school, and the building was almost deserted. He'd stayed behind to finish something in the library while simultaneously watching Kyle as he'd left that day, and he'd seen him get into Stan's car; rage flaring inside of him. Eric had no doubt had to stay behind again for detention.

He'd tried to remain calm as he set his backpack down on a desk and regarded Eric, one eyebrow raised.

"What?" He'd asked, not bothering to mask his irritation.

Eric had scratched at his neck like he was a fucking crack addict jonesing for a fix.

"I just don't know about all of this, you know? I'm not sure I can do this."

Now Mark had really had to fight back his rage. He kept his surface smooth however, and inside the pocket of his jeans his fist had clenched until his fingernails were biting into his palm.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"It's just, I don't know. This is Kyle, and sure I hate him, but I don't know if I hate him this much," Eric looked down at his shoes, his hand still on the back of his neck.

"You do," Mark said, simply. "But it goes deeper than that, doesn't it?"

Eric looked up, bewildered.

"Your hate isn't just steeped in intense dislike, Eric. Your hate also stems from desire." Mark stepped toward him, and Eric had moved back a little. "You want to fuck Kyle, don't you? You've pretty much already admitted to it."

Eric backed up into a desk, his eyes wide.

"I mean, I guess. I don't know. I've thought about it, but-"

"I imagine you've thought about it quite a bit. I bet you're imagining it right now, aren't you? You're thinking about shutting up that little Jew once and for all, you're imagining being in complete control of him." Inside his pocket, Mark's hand clenched even tighter because he was imagining the same thing, Kyle tied up and begging for it; for everything. He squeezed his hand so tight that now his skin was starting to feel slick; his nails had drawn blood in his palm.

Eric managed to nod, his face flushed now. Mark saw him swallow, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat. Suddenly he wanted to wrap his hands around that throat and just squeeze until Eric was snuffed out, for making him worry; for making him have this completely asinine conversation. The very fact that he even had to entertain the notion that he was going to share Kyle with him of all people, with anyone really, made him feel a rage that almost overwhelmed him.

"I can tell you that it's everything you think it is and more," Mark continued, hating to give details to this piece of shit. Sure, he'd enjoyed pushing this crap in Stan's face, but Eric was different. He was a pawn, even if he was smart and pretty evil in his own right. "Didn't I tell you he's the best I've had? Well, I meant it. Why else would I be willing to deal with you?"

Eric sputtered with rage.

"Who the fuck do you think you are? You aren't just dealing with me. You need me!"

"And don't think for a fucking second that I don't hate it," Mark replied, his eyes narrowed. "So don't fucking go and try to grow a conscience now, okay? We both know that isn't about to happen this late in the game. I know about your past; you've killed someone's parents, you tried to eradicate the Jews. What we're planning to do is nothing in comparison to that."

"Still, it's Kyle," he said, and his rage was gone as soon as it came; replaced by obvious indecision. "How do I even do this?"

"You take what I gave you and you fucking use it."

"But when?"

"I'll let you know when. Have you signed up for tutoring?"

"Yeah, but I'm still not sure how that plays into everything else."

Mark sighed.

"We need to establish an acceptable reason for why you would want to see Kyle outside of school, right?"

"Well, yeah, but couldn't I just invite him over? I mean, we're kind of friends or whatever."

"Do you think he'd actually take you up on that kind of offer without a reason? Just the two of you, hanging out?"

Eric looked away, no doubt seeing the flaw in his logic.

"Well, no. I guess not."

"Right, so you're going to have to give him a situation he can't see any reason to refuse. Kyle clearly hates you but he's also obsessed with doing the right thing. If you ask for extra help outside of the normal tutoring times he'll be on his guard, but I'm pretty sure he'll agree to help you. It's just in his nature." Mark relaxed a little, enjoying the idea of the plan coming together. Control was a beautiful thing. "But we have to establish that you're serious in the first place, so you need to go to tutoring for a few weeks to make him think you're actually dedicated." He snorted. "Who knows? Maybe it'll actually improve your grades."

Eric bristled.

"You know, I don't have to put up with you insulting me, dude. I could back out of this bullshit at any time."

Mark smiled so slowly that it felt like it was seeping across his face.

"You could but you won't. You've wanted this for almost your whole life. I'm giving you an opportunity, an in. Why would you fuck that up?"

He looked away, defeated. Mark noticed that Eric's hand went to his pocket and reached inside. His smile became wider.

"So, have we reached an understanding here?"

Eric reluctantly nodded, his hand still in his pocket, his eyes pointed at the floor.

"Good. Oh, and Eric?"

He lifted his eyes to meet Mark's.

"Don't fucking approach me at school again, got it? Kyle will be tipped off as soon as he sees us together. He isn't stupid. I gave you my number for a reason. Use it." He lifted his bag back onto his shoulder. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you not to send details regarding all of this, too. Use your head."

Mark turned and left, not bothering to look back. He knew that Eric was still standing there, watching him leave. His feet nailed to the floor and that stupid look on his face.

Mark had almost destroyed the joint in less that a few minutes, remembering this bullshit exchange. It was helping to take the edge off his anger but still it lingered. Fucking imbecile. What was he even thinking trying to talk to him at school? They weren't friends; didn't Eric realize how suspicious it would look if people saw them together? Goddamn wagging tongues would get back to Kyle in less than an afternoon. He took one last drag on the joint and held it in his lungs for as long as he could stand it, then exhaled slowly. Up above the stars were swimming but he was still in a rage. He was on the outskirts of it but still it was there. Mark's hand throbbed slightly and he looked at it, at the bloody half moon nail marks embedded there.

Rebecca joined him on the balcony then, wearing one of Mark's old t shirts and a pair of panties. He noticed the lace around the edges as she sat on the balcony wall and leaned back against the railing, looking up at the sky. A glass of wine was in her hand and she slowly took a sip, the moonlight glazing her glass with white.

"Nice night," she remarked. She took another sip and looked at Mark. "You were late getting home. Where were you?"

Mark disregarded her question and flicked the joint away. He came over to her, undoing his jeans as he walked. He took the wine glass from her hand and set it aside but she didn't protest. Rebecca looked into Mark's eyes as he spread her thighs apart and shifted her panties to the side, gasping as he entered her as she sat on the balcony, her back against the stars and the night. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he thrust into her, and he placed his hands under her legs and guided her as she wound them around his legs.

The rage was falling away little by little now as he fucked Rebecca underneath the stars, as the weed seeped into his blood and made him feel loose and sleepy. Mark reveled in her warmth and could feel his sister's breasts jiggling beneath her t shirt, and he reached under the fabric to cup one as he continued to fuck her up against the railing. He smiled a little as he got closer to coming, mainly because he had her in the same place on the balcony where he'd fucked Kyle on New Year's Eve. Mark pressed his face against her shoulder so she couldn't see his amusement.

*****

A few weeks later, Kyle wasn't aware of it, could never have even suspected it, but Mark called Eric and told him when they were going to make their move, and even though Eric's hand shook as he held his phone, Mark's was still as a corpse; he was completely ready. As Kyle fell asleep in Stan's warm arms that night, he had no idea that he was about to be lured back into a nightmare, even though a small part of himself had hungered for it all along.


	30. Part II; Mark/Kyle's POV - Four

**Is this more than you bargained for yet?**  
**Oh, don't mind me, I'm watching you two from the closet**  
**Wishing to be the friction in your jeans**  
**Isn’t it messed up how I’m just dying to be him?**  
**I’m just a notch in your bedpost**  
**But you're just a line in a song**

**_Sugar, We're Goin Down, Fallout Boy**

********

 

"How are you feeling today, Kyle?"

Kyle ignored the question as he looked into his mug of mint tea. Dr. Boyer had a variety of mugs that she rotated through during any given session; today's had Ziggy holding a daisy on it. Its retro quality made Kyle feel oddly comforted, though he couldn't say why.

"Kyle?" Dr. Boyer asked, gently, her pad resting on her knee and a pen loosely held between the fingers of her right hand. Today she was wearing a multicolored shawl with glittery threads that caught the sunlight pouring through the office windows. Kyle focused on these little glimmers when he grew bored with Ziggy.

"Okay, we can just be quiet for a few minutes, if you'd like," she finally said, and her voice was still so fucking calm that Kyle wanted to scream. "If there's anything you feel like telling me, just let me know."

They sat in silence for awhile, and while Dr. Boyer seemed serene Kyle was churning inside. Even with his meds he was having trouble sleeping and trying to keep his thoughts off of Mark. He was just always there, almost like his hands were always on Kyle's shoulders; around his neck. They squeezed tighter everyday. What little sleep he was able to get was haunted with those same hands, bloodied, or he had Kyle pinned down on his bed, or up against a wall or -

"I've been trying to stay busy," Kyle blurted out. Dr. Boyer looked vaguely surprised for a moment but then her face settled into its placid stillness. She smiled.

"Oh?"

Kyle fiddled with his mug and finally set it aside when a splash of tea fell on his sleeve.

"Yeah, I've been staying occupied, like you said I should? But I'm not fixating on little details, I'm just trying to enjoy the experiences or whatever."

"Has it helped at all?"

"A little, I guess. It's mainly with tutoring, mostly. Remember, I told you I tutor at least once a week?"

"Yes, I do remember. That's great, Kyle."

"It's kind of weird, though. Now I'm tutoring one of my, well, I wouldn't call him a friend exactly, but we've known each other forever."

"Hmm, and why is that weird?"

Kyle hesitated for a moment. Cartman was even more difficult to explain than Mark; he wouldn't even know where to start.

"We have a difficult relationship," he said, carefully.

"Like you and that person you've mentioned in the past?"

"Uh, it's a little different than that," Kyle replied, blushing.

"How so?"

"Well, for one thing, we pretty much hate each other. We have for years." This statement made Kyle take pause. Did he hate Mark? He should hate Mark, so why wasn't that the first emotion he brought to mind? Jesus Christ, why did all of this need to be so complicated?

"Kyle? Did you hear me?"

Kyle looked up to see Dr. Boyer watching him intently, her pen poised over her pad.

"I'm sorry?"

"I asked why you two feel this way about each other?"

Kyle sat back and rolled his eyes.

"Where do I even start with that one? For one thing, he's notoriously racist and is constantly ripping on me for being Jewish. It's like," he thought a moment, trying to find a way to put it into words. "It's like he takes it personally or something, so he just never lets up about it. He's also completely intolerant and just kind of unbearable to be around."

Dr. Boyer gazed at him for a moment.

"I'm kind of surprised you're willing to help him then."

Kyle shrugged.

"Well, I mean, it's the right thing to do, you know? He's actually been coming to tutoring sessions for nearly a month now. I'm actually kind of impressed. He told me that he wants to improve his grades so he can get into a better college." He lapsed into silence, musing now. "I'm not sure how much of that I believe but I'd still like it to be true."

"Oh, and why is that?"

"Because as much as I hate this guy, I actually think he's pretty smart. He's an awful student, but it's because he doesn't apply himself." Kyle let out a breath. "Believe me, I've seen Cartman when he does apply himself and it can be pretty frightening what he can accomplish."

Dr. Boyer smiled and tapped her pen against her mouth, the corners of her eyes scrunching up.

"What?" Kyle asked, slightly annoyed at her reaction. What was there to smile about?

"You said his name, Cartman. That's the first time you've mentioned a name to me. You still haven't revealed the name of the other person we've spoken about."

Kyle flushed.

"Well, yeah, and I'm not going to, so you can forget about that."

She pressed her hands together and rubbed them a little, her turquoise ring flashing on her finger.

"These feelings you have toward this Cartman person, would you say they're at all similar to the other person? Your face and mannerisms are kind of similar when you talk about them, so I'm just curious."

Kyle held up his hands and shook his head.

"No, no way. I mean, I guess they have similar personalities but-"

He stopped, feeling a little alarmed.

"They actually have really similar personalities, now that I think of it. They're both calculating and devious, and they'll pretty much do anything in their power to get what they want. I really hadn't thought of it before, but in a lot of ways they're almost the same person."

"And yet you'd be willing to help Cartman but not this other person?"

Kyle shrugged.

"Well, sure. I've known Cartman for years. He's pulled some pretty awful crap on me in the past but I don't think he's necessarily capable of the same stuff as...as the other person. Trust me, they're on two different levels when it comes to certain things."

Dr. Boyer just nodded and jotted something down on her pad. Kyle picked up his Ziggy mug and took another sip, lost in thought.

******

Kyle was surprised to run into Rebecca on his way out of Dr. Boyer's office just a little while later. She was signing in at the window and Kyle was immediately filled with apprehension when he saw her and he quickly looked around to make sure Mark wasn't lurking somewhere. Glancing up, she noticed him and smiled, her hazel eyes bright.

"Kyle! You had an appointment today? Who's your doctor?" She pushed a strand of hair behind one ear, and Kyle eyes were drawn to her nail polish; a glittery pale pink.

"Dr. Boyer," he said, still feeling uneasy.

Rebecca peered at him, her face lighting up with understanding.

"Don't worry, Kyle. Mark isn't here; I came alone. I'm seeing Dr. Borst." She shifted her purse on her shoulder. "I come every week, what about you?"

"Yep, every week," Kyle replied, letting out a long breath. His thumping heartbeat thankfully started to slow down. "Ever since we got back from Grand Junction and-"

She held up her hand.

"Say no more, I totally get it. I can't think of a better reason to see a therapist." She held up her other hand and flashed the undersides of her forearms at Kyle, showing off the pink scars snaking up both of them. "I think it's pretty obvious why I'm here, I mean, in addition to my delightful twin trying to murder our father."

Kyle nodded, not sure what to say. He almost winced when he saw the scars, and he could vividly remember the day they found Rebecca floating in the bathtub, the water pink with her blood.

"How are you doing?" He asked. "It's been so long since I've gotten a chance to talk to you, you know, now that Mark and I, well..."

"It has been awhile, you're right. I'm doing okay, all things considered. I mean, I can't say that I'm the happiest I've ever been, but I can function, you know?" She reached up a hand and tugged on one of the flaps on Kyle's hat. "I see you're still wearing my present." She grinned.

He brought a hand up to touch the hat, feeling self conscious but glad to see Rebecca grinning like she was genuinely happy for a moment.

"Yeah, I woke up this morning and I was kind of chilly so I figured, what the hell? Might as well wear it before the weather completely turns." He jammed his hands in his pockets. "So, uh, how's your brother been?"

She seemed taken aback by the question, her eyebrows raised.

"He's fine, I guess. Honestly, he's the same as always." Kyle noticed her hand clench around her purse strap, the knuckles becoming white. "Why do you ask? I thought you were mad at him."

"Oh, yeah, I'm super pissed at him. I mean, he practically got away with murder after making it seem like he felt all remorseful." He looked down at the floor, afraid to look at her as he asked his next question. "How do you stand it? Mark attacked your father and you don't seem nearly as bothered as you should be."

"I'm plenty bothered, Kyle," Rebecca replied, her tone annoyed. "But this is my brother we're talking about, and he only did it because he was finally done with our dad's bullshit, and he wanted to protect me." She lifted her chin defiantly. "He was making a statement, and even though I love our father Mark is the one who's always been there for me. I'm going to be on his side no matter what."

"Seriously? No matter what?"

Her eyes darkened slightly, and she looked more like Mark than ever.

"Well, there are exceptions, of course," she replied. "But hopefully I'll never have to deal with them."

Suddenly, her name was called by a short woman with a black bob and huge glasses. Rebecca glanced away and then looked back at Kyle.

"Well, I gotta go. See you around, okay?" She started to walk away, her hand still clenched around her purse strap. Kyle called out to her before she could disappear into the doctor's office.

"Rebecca, wait!"

She turned to stare at him, and Kyle almost wilted under her direct look.

"Just, please-" he broke off, then managed to find his resolve. "Please don't tell Mark you saw me here, okay?"

Rebecca smiled, and it was almost cruel even though her eyes didn't look as dark as they had a moment before.

"I won't, Kyle. But I wouldn't be surprised if he already knew all about this." She gestured around her. "You know how Mark is. See ya."

She turned away to follow the doctor into her office, the door shutting behind them.

*****

"Hey, I'll call you when I get out of work tonight, okay?" Stan asked, as he walked beside Kyle toward the library.

It was a friday afternoon and Kyle was heading to tutoring, his eyes glued to the floor as he thought about what he was getting ready to walk into.

"Kyle?" Stan asked, bumping Kyle's shoulder softly. "Did you hear me?"

Kyle shook his head to clear his thoughts and turned to Stan.

"What? Oh, yeah, sure. Of course, just call me when you're done and we can meet up."

Stan looked down at him, his blue eyes full of concern.

"Are you okay? You've been spacey all day."

Kyle sighed and stopped to lean against a locker.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I guess I am, anyway. You know I always just get really nervous about tutoring because Mark's going to be there, and now I have Cartman to deal with on top of it."

"Well, dude, you didn't have to agree to give him extra help. When are you going to learn to say no?" Stan reached down and took Kyle's hand, his thumb massaging the knuckles.

"Yeah, yeah. You're right, I know. It's just, he's been so dedicated lately. He's come to every session for over a month and he's actually improving. It's crazy."

"That's great, Kyle, but that doesn't mean you had to agree to stay late with him today. What the hell are you guys even going to be working on?"

"Oh, his term paper or whatever. Cartman is surprisingly good at math, which, frankly, amazes me, but he's hopeless when it comes to structuring an essay. You should see what he's written before I edit it; he might as well have taken a shit on the page." Kyle snickered.

"No surprise there, but still," Stan brought Kyle's hand to his lips and kissed his palm. "You know what they say about good intentions, right? The road-"

"To Hell is paved with good intentions, I know, I know. Give me a break, okay?" Kyle pulled Stan's hand toward his own mouth and kissed it. "I promise, this'll be the last time that I do a favor for Cartman, alright? So lay off."

"Right, I'll believe that when I see it." Stan rolled his eyes but he smiled, and Kyle melted by how absolutely charming it was, even though it still irritated him.

"Well, I have to get going either way," Kyle said, and he walked into Stan's waiting arms for a hug. He pressed his face close against Stan's chest, wanting to hear his heartbeat. "Don't forget to call."

"Do I ever?"

*****

"Okay, everyone, the session's over for today. See you all next week, m'kay?" Mr. Mackey clapped his hands and dismissed everyone, and in a moment the room was filled with the sounds of chairs scraping back and books being crammed into bags. Kyle watched Mark closely as he gathered up his stuff, his face calm as he zipped up his bag.

Kyle had made it a habit to watch Mark out of the corner of his eye during every tutoring session, but he'd noticed that Mark wasn't watching him nearly as much as he'd used to. In fact, Kyle had almost wanted him to turn to look at him, even though he knew that was crazy and totally absurd. He was ashamed to admit that he really hadn't spent very much time paying attention to his charges during this particular session, choosing instead to look at Mark as he chewed on the end of his pen, his head rested on his hand as he explained something to Malcolm.

His eyes had drifted to Mark's hands as he'd written something in his notebook, and for a moment he was imagining those hands on his skin, gripping his hips as he pulled Kyle close against him. Kyle's mouth had watered at the thought, and as he watched Mark stand up and leave the room without turning to look at him once, his hands gripped his knees and he had to fight the urge to run after him and demand that he look at him; see what his presence was doing to him.

"Earth to Kyle. Hello? Are you in there?"

Suddenly, a hand was being waved in front of Kyle's face and he was brought back to reality. Irritated, he looked over to see Cartman glaring at him, and he shifted in his chair so they weren't sitting as close.

"Yes, I'm here, dammit. Let's just get this over with, okay?"

Cartman shrugged and pulled out his notebook, opening it up to a page filled with almost completely illegible writing. At that moment, Mr. Mackey came over to them and Kyle noticed that the entire library had pretty much emptied out except for the 3 of them. For whatever reason, he glanced at Cartman, feeling uneasy.

"So, are you two going to be okay in here while I go across the hall to finish some work?" Mr. Mackey asked, rubbing his hands together like they were cold.

Before Kyle could respond, Cartman was taking the reins and answering for them.

"Of course, Mr. Mackey. We'll be just fine." He smiled up at him and Kyle almost gagged at his insincerity.

"Well, m'kay. Just holler if you need me, alright? I have a lot of work to get done before I leave so you can have the library for at least the next two hours."

"Oh, that'll be perfect, Mr. Mackey. Thank you," Cartman simpered, glancing at Kyle, who just rolled his eyes and looked away in disgust.

After they were left alone, Kyle pulled Cartman's notebook closer and tried to start deciphering his chicken scratch. He sighed.

"Can't you at least write neatly? I can barely read this," he remarked, trying to piece it together. He glanced at Cartman when he didn't immediately become defensive. "Hey, are you okay? You look really sweaty. I mean, sweatier than usual."

Cartman was sitting there, his hands in fists and his brow wet with perspiration. He looked a little nervous.

"Yeah, uh, I'm fine." He glanced toward the door and then shook his head, his face becoming angry. He looked back at Kyle. "Well, quit fucking around and get to it? We don't have all night, you know."

"Fine, Jesus. You're the one that wasn't paying attention."

For the next half an hour they pored over Cartman's essay, and Kyle was relieved to see that he had his ideas in better order than he'd initially thought. They were getting pretty close to having a solid outline when he glanced around.

"What? What are you looking for?" Cartman asked, narrowing his eyes at him.

"My water bottle, I just had it right here," Kyle gestured at his bag, at the empty bottle holder on the side.

"Oh, yeah, it's right here," Cartman replied, looking around and reaching under his chair. He grabbed the bottle and set it on the table. "It must have fallen out and rolled away."

"Oh, thanks," Kyle said, taking the cap off and drinking deeply. "I don't know what it is about the library but the air makes my throat so dry." He took another drink and grimaced a little. "Mm, this tastes kind of weird. I hate room temperature water."

"Yeah, same here." Cartman turned back to his notebook, his pen poised over the paper. Kyle noticed that his hand seemed to be shaking a little bit.

"I actually think the idea you have for your paper is really good," Kyle said, wanting to diffuse some of their usual tension. "I think it's a great idea to compare Van Gogh's version of Hiroshige's wood block paintings to the originals. It's pretty interesting." He frowned when Cartman didn't say anything, and he reached out to tap him on the shoulder. "Hey, are you listening?"

Cartman jumped, and Kyle pulled away.

"Hey, relax. Why are you so on edge?"

"I'm fine. Let's just dispense with the small talk and get back to work, okay?" Cartman's eyes were firmly rooted on the page. Kyle shrugged and leaned closer to him, and he caught a whiff of Cartman's cologne. Feeling uncomfortable again, he sat back a little.

They worked for another 20 minutes or so when Kyle decided it was time to use the restroom. He pushed himself up from his seat and was taken aback when his head started to spin, and he had to reach out to grab the edge of the table to keep from toppling over. He took deep, gasping breaths to steady himself as the room started to spin.

"I-I don't feel right," he managed to say, and a cold sweat broke out over his skin. "I think my blood sugar is dropping or something. I feel really dizzy." He sat back down in his chair, still clutching at the table.

Cartman looked at him, and Kyle noticed he didn't look as nervous now; just watchful. He reached out a hand to him.

"Please, Cartman. Something isn't right. Can you help me to the bathroom? I don't know if I'm going to be sick or something."

Instead of helping him up, Cartman scooted his chair closer, and his hand came to rest on Kyle's arm. He gasped when his grip tightened, his fingers digging into his skin. Without warning, Kyle thought of Mark and how he used to hold him with this same type of ferocity, and he whimpered.

"Cartman, what are you doing?" He tried to pull his arm away but found he didn't have the strength.

Cartman's fingers tightened on his skin and Kyle almost cried out now.

"Tell me, Kyle," Cartman said, softly, and Kyle recognized the dangerous edge in his voice. "What exactly have you done with Stan? Oh, and with Mark, for that matter?"

Kyle was fighting back the dizziness as he tried to understand what Cartman was asking him.

"I-I don't know what you mean, Cartman. Please, I don't feel well at all." He tried to pull away again but Cartman yanked him back; closer.

"I mean, what have you done with those two? They've fucked you, haven't they? Come on, you can tell me; I'll keep it a secret."

Revulsion washed through Kyle's stomach and now he was fighting against nausea and the room whirling. He went to stand, to get away, but Cartman pulled him back, and all of a sudden he was being pushed against the table, the backs of his legs hitting the edge. Cartman's leg was nudging his thighs apart while he continued to grip his arm.

"Cartman, stop! What are you doing?" Kyle asked, almost starting to cry. He felt so confused and disoriented he could barely keep Cartman's face from swimming before his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about. Why are you asking me about Stan and Mark; it's none of your business!"

"It's my business alright," Cartman whispered, and he was leaning down to kiss Kyle's neck, his strong cologne overwhelming Kyle and making him gag. "Because I want the same thing you've given them, and I want it now."

Kyle really did start crying now, and he was pulling away from him even though he felt so weak and Cartman was so terribly strong. He could feel Cartman's hand snaking under his t shirt, and he moaned when his fingers pinched his nipple, making his body arch forward.

"That's better," Cartman murmured, and he was dragging his tongue up Kyle's neck, his mouth getting closer and closer to Kyle's lips.

Kyle was sobbing as he felt Cartman getting closer to putting his mouth on his lips, and he shut his eyes and strained away, begging him to stop.

All at once, Cartman was being ripped off of him and Kyle could hear a gigantic crash, like the sound of a bunch of heavy objects hitting the floor. He opened his eyes to see Mark standing there, and Cartman was cowering on the floor, a bookshelf looming over him at a drunken angle and dozens of books scattered around him. Kyle sagged against the table as he watched Mark pick up Cartman by the throat and he punched him right across the face, a splatter of blood spraying from Cartman's mouth and covering some of the books on the floor. Cringing, he watched as Mark punched him again and again, until Cartman's face was an unrecognizable mess of twisted tissue and blood pouring from his mouth and nose.

"Stop! Mark, stop! Please, you're going to kill him!" Kyle managed to pull himself from the table and stagger over to Mark, who had his arm drawn back like he was going to hit Cartman again, while Cartman just dangled there, seemingly unconscious.

"Please, you don't have to hit him anymore, okay? I'm fine, just please stop," Kyle said, still crying and clutching at Mark's arm.

Mark turned to look at him, his dark eyes stormy and filled with rage. He dropped Cartman like he was a sack of hamburger and he hit the floor with a thud. All at once, he had gathered Kyle into his arms and was holding him close, soothing Kyle as his body heaved with sobs.

"Shh, shh, it's okay, I'm here. It's going to be alright," he said, softly; murmuring the words against Kyle's hair.

Kyle was shaking like a leaf as he clung to Mark, and he looked at Cartman who was still laying on the floor, not moving.

"Why did he do that?" He said, his voice thick with tears. "Cartman's never done anything like that."

"I don't know, baby," Mark said, and he was running his fingers through Kyle's hair. "I just don't know." He pulled away and looked into Kyle's eyes. "Are you okay? Do you need me to take you home?"

Kyle lunged forward and hugged him close, crying against his jacket.

"No! Please, please don't take me home. I don't want my parents to see me like this; I don't want anyone to see me like this, but I don't want to be alone!" He collapsed against Mark's chest and just continued to cry like his heart was breaking.

Mark soothed him with soft words and Kyle could feel him dropping light kisses in his hair, but he didn't care. He was still so scared and confused.

"What do you need me to do, Kyle?" Mark asked. "Just tell me and I'll do whatever you want, okay?"

Kyle pulled away and looked up into Mark's face, his eyes streaming with tears.

"Take me home with you, okay? Please? Just take me to your room so I can get my head together and so I don't have to be alone. I don't want to explain this to anyone, ever. It's too embarrassing. Please!" Kyle fell against Mark again, his hands clenching fistfuls of his shirt.

"Sure, of course. Come on, I'll take you home, okay? Let's go." Mark reached down and grabbed Kyle's bag and slung it on his shoulder. With one last long look at Cartman he put his arm around Kyle and led him out of the library, his hand on the small of his back.

*****

By the time Mark reached his house, Kyle was fast asleep in the front seat, with fresh tears still drying on his cheeks. After Mark pulled into the circular drive and shut off the car, he turned and brushed a hand over Kyle's face, wiping away the moisture and smiling. He got out of the car and went over to the passenger side, where he opened the door and carefully gathered Kyle into his arms. Mark carried him into the house as gently as he would a baby, and brought him up the stairs and down the hallway toward his room.

Mark managed to open the door to his room without jostling Kyle too much, and once he was inside he took Kyle to the bed and lay him down, smoothing the hair away from his face. He opened his eyes briefly, his cheeks flushed a pretty carnation pink, and Kyle smiled up at Mark with gratitude before turning his face away, his eyes sliding closed again. Mark leaned down and kissed his mouth lightly, savoring the taste that he'd been deprived of for so long. He had to resist everything inside of him from taking Kyle right then and there, but he didn't want to do anything too hasty now that he was so close.

He walked out onto the balcony to have a cigarette and look at the stars, and was taken aback when he saw that Rebecca was already there, smoking and nursing a glass of wine.

"So, it looks like you've had an eventful evening," she said, her voice a little too cool for Mark's tastes. She glanced over his shoulder into the room, at Kyle sleeping on the bed like a fairy tale princess caught under a spell. "Are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on, Mark? Why did you bring Kyle here?"

Mark lit a cigarette and took a long drag, the smoke escaping from his mouth and up toward the stars.

"There was a little incident in the library during tutoring and I'm just helping Kyle out, end of story."

"Right, and I'm sure you had nothing to do with it," she remarked, narrowing her eyes.

He smiled, remembering Eric's face as he pummeled it; at the look of surprise and betrayal written there. He brought the cigarette to his lips again and inhaled deeply.

"I seriously have no idea what you're talking about," he said, feigning nonchalance.

"Oh, give me a fucking break," she spat, her fingers clenching around her own cigarette. She stubbed it out savagely on the the balcony wall. "I know you had something to do with this! I'd have to be a goddamn moron not to realize it." She threw the cigarette butt away and pushed herself down from the wall.

"Hm, I'm not sure I like your tone right now, Becky," he said slowly; carefully. "You better dial it back, okay?"

"I'm not going to dial anything back! Not until you tell me what the fuck is going on!"

Mark slowly finished his cigarette as Rebecca seethed, until it was nothing but a nub that he could flick away.

"I don't answer to you, Becky. Now, if you can't be civil, you can just get the hell out of my room. Alright?" He stared her down, his eyes darkening until they were the same color as the night descending around them.

She started crying.

"Mark, what about me, huh? Don't I matter?" She came over to him and grabbed the front of his shirt. "Aren't I enough for you?"

With a look of distaste he reached down and uncurled her hands from his shirt.

"Of course you are, but you're being way too emotional for me right now. Why don't you leave and come back when you've gotten control of yourself? Besides, I have to go check on Kyle and make sure he's okay." He turned to walk back into his room but Rebecca grabbed his shirt again.

"He doesn't fucking love you, Mark! Can't you see that? I already told you that! Just leave him alone already! You already have me, so why isn't that enough?!"

Mark pulled away, and he had to fight back the urge to backhand her across the face.

"Like I said, you're being too intense right now. I need you to leave until you've gotten your shit together."

Rebecca just stood there, crying now; her hands pressed against her face. He rolled his eyes.

"Now. I'm not telling you again." He walked away into the bedroom and straight toward Kyle, who was still fast asleep on his side; his hands curled by his face.

Mark refused to look at Rebecca as he heard her leave his room, opting instead to run his fingers through Kyle's hair and admire the red curls against the white pillowcase. He sighed and kissed his cheek, his fingers straying over his plump lower lip. He was temporarily broken from his vigil when he heard an unfamiliar ringtone cut through the quiet, and with annoyance he reached into Kyle's pocket to see who was trying to call.

He almost laughed when he saw the name on the display:

Stan.

Mark let it ring for another moment and then in one casual motion he slid his finger across the screen, sending Stan's call straight to voicemail.


	31. Part II; Mark/Kyle's/Rebecca's POV - Five

**To spend one night with you in our old rendezvous,**  
**And reminisce with you that's my desire.**  
**To meet where gypsies play, down in that dim cafe,**  
**And dance 'till break of day that's my desire.**  
**We'll sip a little glass of wine, I'll gaze into your eyes divine.**  
**I'll feel the touch of your lips pressing on mine.**  
**To hear you whisper low just when it's time to go,**  
**Cherie, I love you so, that's my desire.**

  **-That's My Desire, Helmy Kresa / Carroll Loveday (sung by Patsy Cline)**

* * *

Kyle felt so warm; warmer than he'd been in awhile.

Slowly he woke up, but really it felt like he was breaking from a haze, fighting through a fog, and his eyes were opening as he reveled in this warmth. A familiar blue-green light filled up his vision, and for a moment he was terribly confused.

_Where am I?_

He looked around, fear beginning to thread through his veins and he fought to understand, because his brain was so sluggish; his head heavy. Kyle could barely lift his limbs, and he realized that he had felt this way in the past, when he'd awoken from a sleep that was almost like being dead for awhile; completely gone and steeped in the darkness.

Kyle managed to shift his head on the pillow and when he looked over he was face to face with Mark, and before he knew it he was trying to pull himself from the bed, frantic and terrified. That was the warmth that had engulfed him, he realized now; Mark's arms wrapped around him and holding him so tight that they almost shared the same heartbeat.

He had almost managed to make it to the edge of the bed when Mark was stirring, and his arms were gripping Kyle tightly so he couldn't move away. Kyle almost started to cry at the sensation, and it was like the months that had stood between them had never even existed.

"Please," he whimpered, straining away. "Please let me go. I don't know why I'm here." In a moment of supreme weakness, Kyle started to cry quietly, and he stopped fighting because he was so tired. He hated himself for reveling in the warmth that ultimately woke him up, because for a moment he had felt so safe.

Mark shushed him and drew him close again, but not savagely and without any kind of true force. Rather, he gathered Kyle to him softly and laid him against his chest, where Kyle could hear his calm and steady heartbeat, and for a moment it was like a metronome lulling him. Before long, he could feel himself drifting, and the tension was starting to leave his body before he started up again.

"Mark, what happened? How did I get here?" Feeling drunk, he managed to sit up and he contemplated the room that he hadn't seen in so long, and his eyes fell on all of the familiar things he could never forget: the fish tank bubbling in the corner, the shelves stacked with books, the gossamer curtains covering the windows, and the door that led out to the balcony, where a dramatic starscape was no doubt swirling like a tempest across the sky.

Kyle clutched his hands to his face to blot everything out. As hard as he tried he could never get away from this place, and his frustration and despair were enough to make him cry harder.

"I don't want to be here," he moaned, sobbing. "I want to go home."

Mark tenderly drew him close again, and his voice was soft and gentle as he stroked Kyle's hair.

"You are home, Kyle." Mark kissed his throat and he almost sighed because it had been so long since he'd really been kissed like that. Stan had a habit of doing the same thing, but Mark's lips lingered in a way that set fire to his blood.

"Don't you remember? You asked me to bring you here because Eric attacked you." Mark held him tighter now, and Kyle could tell that there was rage sinking into his mood as he talked about what happened. "He went after you in the library, and I had to pull him off of you. It was terrible."

Kyle strained to remember, but it was all a haze. Snatches of memory flitted through his brain like fireflies, but they didn't bring to the surface what Mark was telling him; not really. Vaguely he could recall being with Cartman in the library and studying, and they were piecing together his essay but-

He gasped, his eyes widening. A snippet came to him then, and he could remember Cartman pushing him against the table and gripping his arm. Before he realized he was doing it, Kyle had turned to Mark and he was clinging to his chest and soaking it with his tears.

"I remember," he sobbed. "Not all of it, but I can remember enough. Oh, god, you should've seen the look on his face, Mark. I barely even recognized him; it was awful!"

Mark stroked his back and tried to calm him.

"I know, baby," he murmured. "I can't tell you how glad I am that I forgot my phone and had to go back for it. Otherwise," he shuddered. "Christ, I have no idea what could've happened."

"My blood sugar just dropped out of nowhere," Kyle said, remembering more. "I guess I hadn't really paid attention to my levels or whatever, but all of a sudden I felt so tired and out of it, and I guess Cartman thought that was a good opportunity to make a move." He lapsed into silence. "I can't believe he did that. We've always had a tense relationship, but I honestly never thought he was capable of anything like that."

"Well, you know him a lot better than I do," Mark said, pressing his lips against Kyle's forehead. "So I'll have to take your word for it. I have to say I probably broke his nose; I wouldn't be surprised if he ended up in the ER."

Kyle tensed up, and suddenly he remembered where he was and who he was with. Weakly, he pushed himself away, and he looked into Mark's face, which was bathed in the light of the fish tank and the darkness pouring in from outside.

"You hurt Cartman the same way you hurt your father." He lifted up the covers to look at Mark's hands, and he heaved a sigh of relief when he saw that they were clean, because he fully expected them to be covered in blood. "You're so brutal, you don't care who you hurt as long as you can get away with it."

Now he was completely determined to climb out of Mark's bed, but he had barely made a move before he was being pulled back and held against the mattress. Mark was holding him down, and he had taken hold of Kyle's wrists, which seemed to be his favorite method of immobilizing him. When Kyle dared to look into his face he was surprised to see that Mark's face was completely devoid of rage, and he looked as vulnerable as the night Kyle had discovered him in bed with his sister.

"Kyle, you have to believe what I'm going to tell you," he whispered. "I had no intention of stabbing my father that night. I went over to talk to him, that's it. What I said pissed him off, and I have to admit I was being a total asshole, but he attacked me first. I was just defending myself." His dark eyes searched Kyle's face, hungry for understanding. "I'm not the cold blooded person you seem to think I am."

"How can I believe you?" Kyle cried. "How can I believe anything you say? You just make your own rules and as long as you can get what you want you don't care who gets hurt!"

"That isn't true," Mark replied, and he was kissing Kyle's throat again. "I don't want to hurt you, Kyle. I just need you back, don't you get that? The past few months have been a nightmare, and I keep waiting for you to wake up and come back to me, but every night I go to bed and you still aren't here."

Kyle gritted his teeth as Mark continued to kiss his neck, and he could feel himself starting to relent, but the rational side of his brain still fought.

"Mark, stop, I can't do this. I told myself that I was done with all of this. Your way of doing things is too dark for me; I can't do this anymore, please." Kyle turned his face away as Mark continued to kiss along his neck, his hands still tight on his wrists, but not squeezing enough to hurt. Involuntarily a moan escaped between his lips as Mark's body pressed down on his own, and he tried to stifle it, but Mark had already heard.

Encouraged now, he laid a kiss on Kyle's mouth, and his tongue was licking his lips apart and delving inside. Kyle cried as he kissed Mark again for the first time in months, and he hated how he was already melting around his touch; his deep, unyielding need.

"I know you want to come back to me, Kyle," Mark whispered, and he drew back to look at him. "I can feel it when you're staring at me in class, and I know that you wanted space because you needed to figure things out, but we belong together. What we do together feels so good for a reason, and I know you can see that as well as I can."

"But Stan," Kyle cried, and he could see Stan's sweet face in his mind, and he tried to pull his arms out of Mark's grasp. "He was supposed to call me tonight, he's going to be worried if I don't contact him."

Mark held him fast, and his voice sounded so broken that it almost destroyed Kyle when he spoke again.

"I love you so much more than Stan ever could, Kyle. Don't you get that? I know I come across as cold and unfeeling and angry, but you're the only thing I've found that actually makes me feel normal for a moment, and I don't know how to let you go." He laid his head against Kyle's cheek. "Can't you give me another chance? I need you to help me be okay again. I was never happier than when I was with you, and when you left I didn't even know how to keep going. Please, Kyle, please."

Kyle was surprised when Mark's hands let go of his wrists, and he could feel Mark's body shaking as he pressed his face against Kyle's neck. A tide of remorse and compassion welled up in Kyle in that moment and all he could remember were the good times: Mark caring for him when he was sick, carrying him to the hospital, holding him close when he was delirious with a fever. How could he just forget that? Maybe he had misjudged him; after all, he'd met Mark's father, and he had been awful.

He also thought back to earlier that evening, at the way Mark had ripped Cartman off of him, saving him from his awful intentions. Kyle shuddered at the memory, and he was more confused and sad than ever. It kind of felt like the entire world was losing its mind, but that's the effect Mark seemed to have on everything. It wasn't like everything had felt magically clear and alright when he'd been apart from him, but at least he didn't feel so mired in indecision because while he was away he didn't have to deal with his feelings. All of the nights where he'd made himself come while thinking of Mark came back to him too, and Kyle decided it wasn't just the world losing its mind; he clearly was as well.

Now Mark was holding him in his arms again and he sounded so lost, but it could all be an act; just like the fake tears he'd cried back in the motel room. Kyle supposed Mark could be telling the truth and he hadn't planned on hurting his father, but he was just too fucking good at twisting everything for his benefit. He sighed.

"You're just so complicated, Mark. Why can't anything ever be simple with you?"

Mark was quiet for a moment, and he pulled back a little to look into Kyle's eyes.

"I can admit that I'm kind of a difficult person, and I don't exactly want to deal with rules and bullshit if it means having to give up something I want, but," he sat up and rubbed a hand over his face. "God, I don't know how to convey to you that I'm not this horrible monster, Kyle." Standing up, he went and grabbed his cigarettes from his desk. He took one out and threw the pack back down, turning to look at Kyle.

"Look, I know I can't make you stay here, and I'm well aware that control is just an illusion; a pipe dream, really. I'm not going to lie and say that I won't operate the same way as before, but I won't hurt you, Kyle. I have a lot of contempt for so many things, but not for you, and I guess if you can actually accept that, you'll decide to come back on your own. Otherwise, what's the point? It's simple; I love you, I want you, and if that isn't enough, well-"

He pointed to the door.

"You can leave whenever you want, okay? And this time I'll let you go completely."

Kyle watched as he walked slowly across the room, the moonlight washing over his bare chest and pajama pants. It made highlights glimmer in his hair, and for a moment Kyle was lost in how handsome he was, almost like he'd somehow forgotten while they were apart. He was also surprised to feel his heart lurch a little when Mark left the room to walk out onto the balcony, like it was responding to his absence. Kyle lay against the pillow and stared up at the ceiling, lost in confusion as the scent of Mark's cigarette wafted in on a soft nighttime breeze; mixing with the smell of roses emanating from the pillowcase under his head.

*****

Mark waited, annoyed. He wished he had brought another cigarette with him, but he didn't think it would take this long. For a moment, he was concerned that Kyle wouldn't respond the way he'd anticipated, but he quickly dismissed that idea. Of course he would choose to stay. Mark had given him an option, made him think he had a choice, and that was a powerful tool when it came to persuading someone to cooperate.

He took another drag, watching as dark clouds rolled in from the edge of the violet sky. Soon they would cover up the stars and bring a storm with them, and he could imagine being able to fuck Kyle again as the rain and thunder tore at the windows. Mark smiled at the idea, and flicked a little ash off of his cigarette. Really, he wanted to laugh at most of what he'd told Kyle, specifically about Mark being able to give him up completely. He had come to terms with the fact that that was probably never going to happen.

 _God, what is it about that kid?_ He thought, and it was a question he'd asked himself so many times. It was a constant question when Kyle had decided to distance himself, and Mark had agonized about getting him back. It just wasn't in his personality to fixate on another person like this, unless it was Becky, but Kyle had crawled under his skin and taken up residence there. He was so sweet and vulnerable, so desperate to be controlled, but on the flip side he was a spitfire always wanting to argue. He'd also had the balls to get in Mark's face, which had automatically intrigued him even though it had also made him want to beat the shit out of Kyle. Well, fuck him and then beat the shit out of him, of course.

Not to mention the sex with Kyle was incredible. Mark had always liked to think that he had amazing chemistry with Becky, but the sex he had with Kyle was on another level entirely. He'd always had an unbelievably strong sex drive but, Christ, fucking Kyle was like taking hit after hit of heroin, and just getting higher and higher until he could barely stand it. The thought of sliding into Kyle that very night started to make him hard, and he finished the cigarette feeling more tense than before he'd started.

He glanced over his shoulder, starting to feel really irritated. Where the fuck was he?

 

 A tiny rustle in the room caught his attention and Mark quickly looked forward, his arms crossed. The clouds were really rolling in now, and the thick scent of rain permeated the breeze; the air around him becoming heavy against his skin. Anticipation seeped into Mark along with the promise of the storm, and he waited, hating how droplets of sweat were breaking out on his forehead. Kyle really knew how to get to him, and it drove him crazy. He tried to focus on the throb in his knuckles to distract himself, and Mark was savagely glad that he'd gotten the chance to really go to town on Eric's face; that fucking swine. He'd touched what belonged to him. Mark had had to let him touch his Kyle in order to make any of this possible and it infuriated him.

 With all of these conflicting emotions swirling inside of him, Mark was starting to feel like there was more than one storm brewing that night. He'd almost decided to just go back in his room and fuck Kyle whether he wanted it or not when he heard a throat being cleared behind him. Smiling, he clenched his aching hand and turned to see Kyle standing there, wrapped in a blanket and staring at him with those wide forest green eyes. Mark suddenly recalled that he'd looked like this the morning they'd left for Grand Junction, and Mark had found him standing on the balcony like some woebegone princess in a fairy tale. His heart thumped a little harder at the memory, and he realized that it made him feel a strange tenderness.

 Kyle shivered a little.

 "It's starting to get chilly out here." He looked up at the sky. "Great, and now it looks like it's going to rain."

 "Why are you worried about that? It's not like I'm going to make you walk home," Mark replied, feigning sadness. "I'll drive you if that's what you want."

 Kyle looked away, holding the blanket tighter around himself. Mark had wanted to undress Kyle after he'd put him to bed, but he'd refrained, and left him in his t shirt and jeans. God, he wanted to slide his hands under that frail t shirt and feel the skin on Kyle's back again; so much. His mouth almost watered at the idea while he waited for Kyle to respond.

 "I was thinking I could just spend the rest of the night here," Kyle finally said, blushing. "I mean, I don't want to deal with my parents right now, and I'm still pretty shaken up about what happened with Cartman."

 "That makes sense," Mark replied, admiring the stain of pink on Kyle's cheeks; wanting to see a flush across the rest of his body too. "So, you'll stay the night tonight, but what about tomorrow? What about going forward?"

 "Well, I can't stay over every night, Mark," Kyle said, and Mark couldn't help but think that he was trying to be coquettish. His manner made Mark harder even though he found it a little annoying.

 "What does that mean?" He asked, wanting to get down to brass tacks. Mark fought back the urge to take Kyle by the shoulders and shake him. Patience, he told himself. Jesus, give me some patience right now.

 "It means that I can't make any promises, but I'm willing to admit that I've missed you," Kyle said, slowly. "I don't really know if I can trust you, but I want to at least try to be friends again." He looked up at Mark, his lips slightly parted; anxiety distorting his features until he almost looked like a child.

"Friends. You want to be friends." Mark repeated that word, _friend_ , hating it beyond all reason.

"Well, yeah, and once we've gotten back to a place where I feel like I can almost trust you, maybe we can be more than that. I told you I can't make any promises, Mark."

Mark took a deep breath.

"Okay, friends. Friends. Yeah, I guess I can work with that." His hand clenched up, screaming now. Maybe he'd actually broken it when he punched Eric across the face. Mark pushed back the rage that was building and stepped toward Kyle, and feeling his aggressive need becoming unbearable, he reached out and stroked his face. He was encouraged when he saw that Kyle didn't cringe, and instead he actually leaned his face into Mark's touch.

"Are you telling me that certain things are off the table right now?" He asked, softly. Kyle's skin was like brushing his fingers across a small animal's fur; so soft and delicate.

Kyle's eyes darkened, and the flush on his cheeks traveled down and spread across his neck. He nodded his head.

"I can't, Mark. I'd be lying if I told you I didn't want to be with you like that again, but I just can't right now. After everything that's happened, especially with Cartman and whatever, I can't even go there right now." He looked momentarily afraid, his eyes shadowing a little. "Is that okay?"

_No, it's not fucking okay._

"Of course, yeah. I totally get it. I'll give you the space you need, as long as you'll at least consider it, okay?" Mark gathered Kyle to him, relishing the feeling of the fragile bones sliding under his hands. For a moment he wanted to crush them, but he resisted, and even he was surprised at his restraint given the current circumstances. "I hope you realize I really don't want to just be friends with you, Kyle."

"I know," Kyle replied, laying his face against Mark's chest. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry." Mark kissed the top of his head, detesting the puritanical nature of their interaction right now. All he wanted to do was throw Kyle up against the balcony wall and fuck him senseless, as the storm destroyed the world around them. He wanted to tie him up and keep him locked away in his house. Mark did not want this chaste, tentative friendship; he wanted everything Kyle could give.

"Come on, let's go back to bed," he said, taking Kyle's hand and leading him back inside. He watched as Kyle removed his pants and climbed onto the mattress in his t shirt and boxers, and he almost lost his fucking mind right then and there. Crawling in beside him was torture for Mark, and suddenly he felt like he wasn't going to sleep so much as he was willingly letting himself be sealed inside an Iron Maiden.

"Good night," Kyle whispered in the darkness, and he curled himself against Mark's body, his hand resting on his arm. Before long, his soft little breaths could be heard, and every single one was like a knife in Mark's gut. He wondered if Kyle had smelled roses on the pillowcase he was sleeping on, just before he drifted off; the scent left behind by Rebecca just that morning. Mark had had the housekeeper change his sheets but had told her not to change the pillowcase, because the smell always helped him calm down, but it wasn't working tonight.

He knew playing the long game in this instance was important, but the fact that he'd gotten so close and was still so fucking far away was almost too much. So he lost the goddamn battle for the sake of winning the war, but who even knew if that was going to be the eventual outcome? Mark had Kyle in his bed right now, laying beside him, his hand on his arm, clutching him even in his sleep. It would be so easy to just reach over and -

_No. I'm not going to do that. I'm going to fucking control myself_.

Mark waited until he was sure that Kyle was deeply asleep before he slipped silently from the bed and padded across the room to the door. He opened it and stepped through, and before he was even really aware of what he was doing he was making the old, familiar journey to his sister's room.

******

She'd anticipated this, Mark coming to her at 3 am. That's usually when he grew restless and came looking for her. Rebecca was starting to think of this time of night as their own personal witching hour, when her door would open and footsteps would make their way to her bed. She opened her eyes and smiled to see Mark standing there, looking down at her. For a moment, she tried to remember the person he used to be, before they moved back to South Park, and she wondered if maybe she was trying to see him through rose colored glasses; the boy she used to know. He'd never been exactly tender, but his violent tendencies had really ramped up since he'd gotten tangled up with Kyle, and a brief stab of pain assaulted her. Why couldn't they go back to the self-contained days when it'd just been them against the world?

Rebecca ran her fingers over the scars on her left arm, a compulsion that she'd developed since Mark had attacked their father. In fact, she'd given into a lot of compulsions since she'd tried to kill herself and Mark had come back to the motel room with blood on his hands. Now she couldn't imagine going more than a few days before being with her brother again, and when he sank onto her bed and pulled her close, Rebecca sighed with contentment, even as rage began coursing through her, making her bloodstream feel toxic.

"Why are you here? Didn't Kyle satisfy you?" She asked, bitterly. Mark was rubbing a hand up her thigh and she wanted to resist, but it was just so fucking hard.

"I didn't do anything with Kyle," he answered, kissing her neck. His hand was getting dangerously close to the hot place between her thighs. Rebecca tensed up, waiting.

"I find that hard to believe," she gasped. Her brother's fingers had found her most vulnerable place, and she pressed against him.

"Mm, no, he didn't want to do anything, so I'm just going to have to wait." Mark's hand slid under the fabric of her panties so he could touch her without a barrier.

Mark's words made Rebecca freeze.

"So, that's why you're here? Because you couldn't fuck your little plaything?"

"Becky, stop being so dramatic. I'm here because I want to be."

She pushed his hand away and sat up, pressing herself against the headboard. The savage, all consuming anger was becoming a monster inside of her, and she couldn't keep it at bay anymore.

"I may have to deal with the fact that you're obsessed with Kyle, and I may have to put up with you fucking him, even though I hate it, but I'm not going to be your second choice anymore. I'm either going to be the most important person in your life, Mark, or I'm not going to be with you like this at all."

Mark leaned back and stared at her, running a hand through his hair. He just stayed silent, and she knew that he was trying to get her to back down by withholding himself. It was a trick that he used a lot, and he had become very good at shutting her out until it became unbearable and she cracked. She steeled her resolve.

"I mean it. You need to make a choice, Mark." She crossed her arms and stared at him, even though the vibe he was giving off was already beginning to frighten her.

Suddenly, his hand clamped down on her leg and he was yanking her onto her back again. Before Rebecca could respond, Mark was on top of her and he was holding her wrists, and she was moaning against the pain. He always grabbed her wrists like this when he wanted to make it clear that he wasn't fucking around.

"I've already made my choice, Rebecca," he said, and his voice was enough to make her start crying. She hated when he sounded like this, because this was not the voice of the brother she loved. Rebecca realized that the Mark she adored was gone in that moment and she tried to pull away.

He held her tighter and she gasped, and her mind was flooded with all of the other times she'd found herself in this exact situation. Rebecca turned her face away as she felt Mark pushing her panties aside, and he was inside of her with one brutal thrust. She didn't even cry out because she knew that wasn't going to make a difference anyway, and she gritted her teeth against the pain as her tears fell across her face and onto her pillow. The smell of roses filled up her senses, and she tried to focus on that instead of her sudden awful reality.

She wanted to ask her brother why he hadn't just taken what he wanted from Kyle, if he was the person Mark wanted so much. Rebecca pushed the thought away, because she really didn't want to know the answer. She wanted to believe that her brother loved her, even when he did things like this. All of the emotions she felt for her brother became wrapped up in one ugly, aching mass, and as he continued to thrust into her all she could do was try and become lost in the scent of roses.

Rebecca tried desperately to think of those lovely days after she tried to commit suicide and had been sequestered in the hospital. Yes, they had been dark, too, filled with unknowns and fear, but for a brief, shining moment she had had her brother to herself. He'd come to visit her every day and there was never any rage between them, just love and a close togetherness that had essentially sealed Rebecca to her brother's side forever. She muffled a sob when her brother pulled her up and onto his lap to straddle him, where he wound her arms around his neck, his lips finding her neck.

She fought back the urge to wrap her hands around his throat, knowing he'd probably kill her if she even thought of doing something like that, and she could feel the rage starting to cloud her brain. Mark's hands dug into the soft flesh of her backside and the anger was rising, even though she wanted to love him so badly, so completely. Those days in the hospital started floating away as the grief and fury filled her up like a red tide, destroying everything in its path.

The only thing that kept her from completely losing her mind was the unmitigated rage that had been slowly growing through the years, fortifying her resolve and helping her to keep going. It existed in its own universe independent of her fierce devotion for Mark, but she had managed to nurture it to help keep herself alive, to keep her from dropping into complete insanity. She loved her brother with all of her heart but Rebecca was only human after all, and eventually this whole affair was going to blow apart and for once she would be the one in control, and Mark would be the one begging for mercy.


	32. Part II; Mark/Kyle's/Rebecca's POV - Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus, this chapter was a fucking RIDE, you guys. Holy hell. Hope you enjoy, and as always, comments are appreciated!! :D

**Hello darkness, my old friend**  
**I've come to talk with you again**  
**Because a vision softly creeping**  
**Left its seeds while I was sleeping**  
**And the vision that was planted in my brain**  
**Still remains**  
**Within the sound of silence**

 **In restless dreams I walked alone**  
**Narrow streets of cobblestone**  
**'Neath the halo of a street lamp**  
**I turned my collar to the cold and damp**  
**When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light**  
**That split the night**  
**And touched the sound of silence**

  **-Sound of Silence, Simon and Garfunkel**

  **********

As soon as Kyle woke up the next morning he discovered that he was once again trapped in Mark's arms, and he knew that it was going to be like moving heaven and earth to escape his bed.

Mark pulled him closer and kissed Kyle's cheek, his eyes still soft with sleep.

"Good morning," he said, acting like the circumstances they'd found themselves in were completely normal. "Did you sleep okay?"

Kyle had nodded and allowed Mark to continue kissing him, his heartbeat increasing steadily. A flush traveled over his skin from being held so close and from what Mark was doing, but he managed to keep a level head. When Mark tried to move past a point he was comfortable with he reached out a hand to stop him, and Kyle's voice was firm when he spoke.

"I told you I'm not ready for that, Mark. You said you understood."

He wasn't surprised when Mark's eyes had flashed, and his grip on Kyle's thigh tightened momentarily, but then he was nodding his head slowly, and loosening his hold on him.

"You're right, I'm sorry," he replied, and he let Kyle go completely. Sitting up, he threw his legs over the edge of the bed and stretched, the muscles in his long back rippling under his skin. Kyle did his best to ignore the sudden flutter in his stomach.

"You know, it's funny; I think that's only the second time I've ever heard you apologize," Kyle mused, sitting up too.

Mark glanced back at him.

"Why is that funny? Do you think I should be apologizing more often?"

Kyle shrugged.

"Only if you're sincere, I guess." He stood and headed for the bathroom. After a moment, Mark joined him, and Kyle had to fight back his annoyance. There he went completely ignoring boundaries again.

"Apologies are typically pretty useless, though. Don't you think?" Mark asked, brushing his teeth. "I mean, someone does something shitty to you and they say they're sorry, and? So what? They still fucked you over, so what are flimsy words going to do to change that?"

"That's a pretty childish viewpoint," Kyle replied. He looked at the counter and was surprised to see his toothbrush still there. He picked it up. "You kept this?"

"Yeah. Hope springs eternal, right? Besides, I knew you'd be back eventually."

Kyle could feel himself puffing up with irritation. He had to admire Mark's tenacity but goddamn was he ever smug. He ran the toothbrush under the faucet and started brushing his teeth more aggressively than he probably needed to.

"I'm only here because Cartman attacked me," he said, refusing to look at Mark even though he could feel him watching him in the mirror. "So don't get this twisted."

"Whatever, you already told me you missed me. You can't change your story now just because you're always grouchy in the morning." Mark bumped his shoulder playfully.

"You know, I really didn't miss how fucking infuriating you are, Mark," Kyle replied, slamming his toothbrush down on the counter. "And your attitude towards apologies totally sucks. Apologies aren't worthless; they're necessary. Sometimes you have to say you're sorry because you fucked up, and you need to let the other person know that you realize it. You do it for the other person, not for yourself."

"I thought love meant never having to say you're sorry," Mark replied, his tone aggravatingly wry.

"Oh, no. No, no. You are not going to quote Love Story at me this early in the goddamn morning. I told you I hate that movie and I meant it." Kyle finished at the sink and stalked out of the bathroom. "Besides, that has to be one of the dumbest fucking quotes I've ever heard in my entire life."

"God, you are so testy this morning," Mark said, coming into the room. He picked up his pack of smokes from the dresser.

"You'll have to excuse me, Mark. I guess I'm just letting the fact that I almost got sexually assaulted yesterday go to my head." He glared at him. "It kind of brings back some memories, but I'm sure you already know what I'm talking about."

Mark rolled his eyes and opened the door to the balcony. The storm from the night before had blown over but the sky was still a heavy grey; he slipped on a pair of shoes to protect his feet from lingering puddles. Kyle pulled his hoody on and accepted another pair of shoes that Mark offered him, his feet swimming in them. They walked out onto the balcony and Kyle was relieved that the air was refreshing instead of being heavy and moist like the night before.

"Aren't your therapy sessions helping you work through all of that?" Mark asked as he lit his cigarette. He took a drag while shooting Kyle a sideways glance.

Kyle started.

"How did you know about that? Did Rebecca -"

"Becky didn't tell me anything, Kyle; I just knew. You've been going since January," Mark said, cutting him off.

"It figures you would know," Kyle sighed. "You fucking know everything, don't you? It's like you're everywhere, all the time."

"I'm interested in you, Kyle. You know that. None of this should be a shock to you," he exhaled some smoke. "Besides, I was concerned. I wanted to make sure you were okay so I kept tabs on you."

"Uh huh. You do realize you're the reason I'm in therapy, right? Ever since I met you I've felt like I'm stuck in some weird Southern Gothic novel or something."

"Oh, sweet Antebellum," Mark replied, rolling his eyes. "Kyle, you've been reading way too much Carson McCullers."

"It's true, though. Don't you feel like we're caught in a dream, or a nightmare, depending on your perspective?" Kyle watched Mark take another drag on his cigarette, his face impassive. "Oh, that's right, you're in complete control of this situation so why would you feel that way? You've got us all in your pocket."

"I feel like we've had this conversation before, Kyle. You walked into my parlor of your own accord, so I'm hardly in complete control of anything. Sure, I can manipulate situations and people to suit my needs but I've got news for you, Kyle; everyone fucking does that. It's called being human, and we all do it so much that we're not even aware of it. The fact that you're so cute is manipulative in and of itself." He smiled, charmingly.

"You are so completely warped. Did you know that? I'm pretty sure that when you go to Hell after you die you'll be able to sweet talk Satan out of his job after a week."

"So, I take it therapy isn't helping," Mark replied, ignoring Kyle's comment.

Kyle jammed his hands in his pockets.

"No. For one thing, I can't bring myself to talk about you."

"Why not?"

"What the hell could I even say? How do I explain you to a stranger? Oh, yeah, and then there's Mark, the charismatic sociopath that fucks his sister and dabbles in sadomasochism. Oh, and he also tried to kill his father, by the way."

Mark laughed.

"I sound like every therapist's wet dream when you describe me that way." He cocked an eyebrow. "I'm hardly a sociopath, by the way. You make me sound like I'm Ted Bundy or something."

"Keep it up, Mark. You're on your way."

Mark stubbed out his cigarette and reached over to put his arm around Kyle's shoulders, drawing him close.

"God, I've missed our banter, Kyle." He nuzzled his hair and kissed his forehead. "I've missed you. So, what did you want to do today?"

Kyle leaned against Mark's side but tensed up at his question.

"Uh, I'm actually going over to Stan's later this morning. We already had plans."

Mark's arm tightened around him, not surprising Kyle in the least.

"I see. And I can't talk you out of going?"

Kyle unwound Mark's arm from his shoulders.

"No, I already promised him, and besides, I'm sure he's worried about me. I was able to text him last night to let him know that I was okay, but still."

"Kyle, I'd really prefer that you stay," Mark said, and Kyle noticed that his hand was clenching into a fist at his side. He stepped back.

"And I'd really like you to accept what I'm telling you, Mark. We talked about this, remember? I told you that I was going to need some time and space, and you're just going to have to respect that. Okay?" He peered closer at Mark's clenched hand.

"Jesus, your hand looks terrible." Kyle glanced up at Mark's face, suddenly feeling guilty. "It was from hitting Cartman, right? God, I hope you didn't break it or anything."

Mark looked away, his face lapsing into anger.

"He fucking deserved worse," he said, bitterly. "Seriously, he's lucky I didn't kill him."

"Cartman has a lot of problems," Kyle said, soberly. "At this point I just hope he gets help someday. He really needs it."

"Why aren't you angrier, Kyle? That sick fuck attacked you!"

"Of course I'm angry," Kyle replied, shrugging. "But I'm learning more and more that people are pretty much capable of anything, and I need to accept that. I need to protect myself more, and stop being so naive, but, really, anger isn't going to do anything." He glanced at Mark. "Wouldn't you feel better if you weren't so angry all the time?"

Mark shook his head and walked around Kyle, back into the room.

"You're laying too much heavy shit on me first thing in the morning, Kyle." He sat on the bed and when Kyle walked toward him Mark suddenly reached out and draped his hands on his hips, pulling him close before he could protest. He rested his face against Kyle's stomach and sighed.

"Just say you'll come back, okay? Please."

Kyle had to fight the urge to wrap his arms around Mark's head, but he managed to refrain.

"I don't know, Mark. I seriously don't know. I need time, okay?"

******

"Give you time? Jesus Christ, Kyle, what the hell?! And how could you let him take you back to his house? Are you fucking insane?"

Stan was walking the floor, his hands clenched into fists at his sides and his hair a mess from running his fingers through it. He couldn't seem to sit still as soon as Kyle told him the events of the previous evening, and the subsequent fallout: waking up in Mark's bed and talking with him on the balcony as a storm gathered above them.

"I know, I know, okay? What was I supposed to say though? Everything happened so fucking fast, and I was still trying to process the fact that Cartman attacked me out of nowhere."

Stan stared at him, his eyes narrowed.

"Just out of nowhere," he repeated.

"Yeah, it was fucking terrifying, Stan. He looked like a complete stranger." Kyle wrapped his arms around himself, remembering the awful look on Cartman's face as he pushed him against the table.

"Don't you think it's a little odd that Cartman did something like that out of nowhere, dude? Like, you guys have had this," he paused, seemingly groping for the right word, "adversarial relationship your whole lives and he just decided to randomly attack you now?"

Even though Kyle had been nursing a strong suspicion about the whole situation his blood ran a little cold at Stan's words.

"I can't even begin to comprehend the deeper implications in all of this, Stan. Believe me, the coincidences here are not lost on me. I just can't process all of this at once, okay? This is a lot to take in, and I can barely think straight."

"Understandable. So," he shifted on the bed, his hands clenched on his knees. "Did he try anything?"

"Yeah, he made a move but it was different this time. Mark actually listened to me when I told him I needed space."

"Oh, wow," Stan replied, sarcastically. "You mean he didn't force you to do anything this time? What a goddamn prince." He sighed. "Kyle, this is not fucking beauty and the beast, okay? You're acting like Mark's cold heart is going to be melted by the purity of your affection or whatever." He stood and walked over to Kyle and settled his hands on his shoulders.

"Mark is a bad guy. Really bad. You know this. On an intellectual level, Christ, just on a level that is concerned with self preservation, you know this. I have to ask you again, why did you go home with him? Why didn't you leave when you woke up and realized where you were? Why? Just why?"

Kyle looked down at the floor, shame flooding through him.

"I guess I kind of missed him. The good parts of him, at least. And I was afraid, Stan, and ashamed and god knows what else. I wasn't thinking straight. I'm still not thinking straight, actually."

Stan shook him a little, and Kyle had to fight the urge to back away, remembering vividly when Mark had shaken him in the past.

"I can tell, and honestly Kyle, and I mean this with all the love in the world; how the fuck can you be so smart and so stupid at the same time? If you'd just bothered to listen to your instincts, or your friends, for that matter, you could've saved yourself a lot of misery. You realize that, right?"

Kyle pushed Stan's hands off of his shoulders and stood up abruptly, his anger rising.

"Yes, I realize that, Stan. And yes, I know I look like a complete dipshit when it comes to all of this, but when you're in the middle of a situation like this one, with someone who's really, really good at manipulating pretty much everything, you just kind of get lost in the fray." He sunk down on the bed and covered his face with his hands. "This has officially been one of the worst years of my life."

"That's why I don't understand why you can't just come out and tell this asshole that you guys are through. You don't need time, you don't need space, you just need Mark to leave you the fuck alone. Forever." He looked at Kyle, his eyebrows raised. "Unless of course that's not what you want, in which case, dude, the fuck? This is not a sustainable situation. I am so ready to get off this crazy fucking carnival ride that I can barely stand it."

"You're right. You're absolutely right; I know that. I told him I just wanted to be friends." Kyle left out the part about potentially being more in the future because he was pretty sure Stan would just snap and kill him if he told him that, and honestly, he couldn't blame him at this point; he was ready to get off the ride too. "And you know what? I am acting like one of those people that thinks they can change another person if they want it badly enough, and it just doesn't make any sense. Mark is going to do what he wants, always. I can't trust him; I can never trust him. And if you can't trust what another person's telling you or their actions, how can you ever have a relationship with them? And that goes for friendship, too. Not just, you know, romantic shit."

"Fucking finally you're starting to sound like yourself again, dude. What the hell did you miss about him anyway? He's been making you miserable since the beginning of the year."

"He has an allure, let's just leave it at that."

"I have reason to believe this stems from the freaky shit he likes to do with you," Stan said, looking away innocently. "Not to mention you've made it incredibly easy for him to order you around which he clearly gets off on. I've never seen anyone so fucking obsessive. I would've lost my shit already."

"Stan, you don't even know-" Kyle stopped and threw his hands in the air. "I am so tired of this subject. Like, I cannot convey to you how tired I am of everything. I'm tired of Mark, I'm tired of Dr. Boyer, I'm tired of being confused and manipulated and pushed around. I'm just so fucking tired of it all."

Stan put his arms around Kyle's waist and laid his head on his shoulder.

"Then let's get off the ride, okay? Maybe then we can salvage the rest of the school year. I really think you're ready to be done with all of this. Don't you?"

Kyle nodded, even though he had no idea how he was going to communicate all of this to Mark. Just the thought of doing that was enough to make him want to go to bed and never get up. He told Stan as such.

"Just treat him the way you do Cartman," Stan replied. "I mean, when Cartman isn't trying to sexually accost you or whatever. Shut him down. I know you can do it."

"If you say so."

******

The rest of the week passed in an anxious blur for Kyle. He was so nervous about finally telling Mark to leave him alone that he woke up feeling nauseous every morning, and by the middle of the day his stomach felt like it was grinding, and he'd have to escape to the bathroom so he could try to calm himself down. The only small bit of luck he had was that Cartman was absent from school for the entire week, no doubt nursing his physical wounds as well as his shattered pride. Kyle realized he was going to have to eventually face him, but he could only slay one monster at a time.

After their reunion, Mark pretty much went back to his old ways, or at least as far as Kyle would let him. They sat together in class and walked the halls together, but he really tried to curb Mark's physical advances, even though he still had the ability to get to him.

"Kangaroos in purple waistcoats," Kyle said during lunch one day. "That's my mantra."

"Wait, what?" Stan asked, looking up from his pizza.

Kyle looked across the cafeteria to see Mark watching him. Rebecca was sitting beside him, but she didn't look very happy, and Kyle noticed that she didn't have her hand on her brother's arm like she normally did. Mark hadn't been thrilled when Kyle put his foot down and told him he was going to eat lunch with his friends, and he looked down at his salad when Stan put his arm around him. He didn't want to see the rage that would inevitably show up on Mark's face.

"It's what I say to calm myself down in certain situations," Kyle said, picking at his food. "My therapist gave me the idea."

"But why that specifically?"

"I don't know. It was just the first thing I thought of," Kyle shrugged.

"Does it help?"

"For the most part." Kyle dared to look up and sure enough, Mark was staring him down like he wanted to walk over to the table and rip Stan's arm off. "Do you have to put your arm around me, Stan? I know you're doing it just to piss off Mark, and trust me, it's working."

Stan responded by pulling him closer.

"Fuck that guy, Kyle. I don't answer to him. Besides, you're going to kick his ass to the curb before too long anyway." He took a bite of pizza. "So, when are you going to get on that?"

"Soon, Stan. I'm just trying to find the right time," Kyle said, covering his face with his hand. Mark's eyes were boring into the side of his skull now.

"Trust me, there isn't a right time for this. You're just going to have to bite the bullet. Don't let him intimidate you anymore, dude. Mark stops having any power over you as soon as you decide you've had enough of his bullshit."

"Thanks, Dr. Phil. I'll keep that under my hat." Kyle pushed his food away because his appetite had pretty much been obliterated.

"See that you do." Stan reached over and kissed him on the cheek, and Kyle had to fight back the urge to cringe.

"Is he still watching?" He asked, not feeling brave enough to look up again.

"Oh, yeah. Dude, you should see his face," Stan laughed. Out of the corner of his eye Kyle saw Stan lift a hand to flip Mark the bird.

"Stan!" He yelled, slapping his arm.

"Like I said, dude. Fuck that guy," Stan said, still laughing. He kissed Kyle's cheek again, but this time he let his lips linger a little bit longer, solely for Mark's benefit.

*****

"How are you feeling today, Kyle?"

Kyle tried to formulate an answer to Dr. Boyer's favorite lead-off question. He looked down at the mug in his hands; today it was Garfield holding his teddy bear, Pookie, but it was the super early version of Garfield from back in the early 80s. Kyle wasn't as fond of this cup as the Ziggy mug, mainly because it brought to mind the t shirt Mark had let him borrow when he was sick.

"Are you okay?" Dr. Boyer asked. "You suddenly looked very concerned for a moment." She was wearing a different shawl today, this one plaid and airy, but she was wearing her usual turquoise ring on her first finger. Kyle's eyes settled on it, still trying to figure out what to say.

"Something bad happened," he finally said, and he hated how childish he sounded. It was amazing how fear could make him go back in time, and all of a sudden he felt just like a little kid, waiting for someone to come rescue him; but this time he had to rely on himself.

"Oh? Did you want to talk about it?"

Kyle sniffled a little. It looked like they were going to get into the more emotional bullshit right off the bat during this session. Dr. Boyer discreetly reached for a box of tissues on the table next to her and placed it in front of Kyle. She smiled, encouragingly.

"It's okay, Kyle," she said, softly. "Remember, we are always going to go at your pace during these sessions. Tell me as much as you feel comfortable with, alright?"

He nodded.

"Does this have anything to do with that person, by any chance?" she asked, softly.

She had been asking him more and more about 'that person' for weeks now, and Kyle supposed it made sense. Mark was the cornerstone of his issues, there was no denying that.

"I think so. I mean, I can't be sure, but I really wouldn't be surprised if he had something to do with it," he replied, his voice frail.

"What happened, Kyle?" Her pen was poised over her ever present notebook.

"Remember I told you about Cartman awhile ago, and how I was helping him with schoolwork?" He looked down at Garfield, at his smiling cartoon face, and the tears were building behind his eyes.

"Yes, you seemed pretty happy that you were able to help him."

"Well, he was just using me, I'm pretty sure. I mean, maybe he wanted my help at one point, but-" he stopped talking when his voice cracked a little.

"But?" She asked, holding out a tissue that Kyle gratefully accepted.

"He tried to do something to me, and don't ask me what it was because I won't tell you, but it was awful." Tears were streaking down Kyle's face now, and he blotted them away with the tissue. "And, like I said, I can't be sure if that person orchestrated the whole thing, but the coincidences are just too obvious, you know?"

She nodded, slowly.

"Have you talked to this person about your suspicions, or do you not feel safe enough to do that?" She wrote something in her notebook.

Kyle shook his head, and he set his mug aside when his hand started trembling. He'd wanted to ask Mark about it the night he'd woken up in his bed, but he just didn't have the strength. Besides, Mark would've just found a clever way to twist everything to suit his designs.

"I couldn't do that, but in a way I'm grateful that all of this happened."

"Oh, and why is that?" She seemed surprised.

Kyle finally found the courage to look into her eyes when he spoke again, even though his voice was tremulous and his hands were shaking.

"I think I've finally made up my mind that I'm done with all of this. I'm ready to walk away, and when that happens, I think I'll finally be able to talk about all of this with you." He cleared his throat.

"I'm done being afraid."

****

When Kyle stepped out of Dr. Boyer's office that afternoon, he was once again surprised to see Rebecca in the waiting room. When she saw him, she stood and came over to him, but this time she wasn't nearly as animated as before.

"Hey," she said. "I was waiting for you. My session ended like half an hour ago but I saw your name on the sign-in sheet so I decided to stick around. Do you have time to talk?"

"Sure, of course," Kyle replied, his eyes settling on Rebecca's wrists. Now there weren't just scars from her suicide attempt, but clusters of angry bruises circling each of her arms. He frowned.

"Let's go outside, okay? It's such a pretty day," she walked out the door and Kyle followed, his eyes still glued to her wrists. They turned onto the sidewalk, the late afternoon sunshine washing over them, and it felt so wonderfully warm that it started to heat up Kyle's t shirt.

"So, what's up?" Kyle asked, glancing at her sideways. Rebecca's face was grim, and it didn't seem to fit with the sunlight pouring around them.

"Oh, I just needed someone to talk to, I guess. About Mark. I mean, I can't talk to Wendy and the other girls about any of this stuff and you know how he is about me talking to other guys, so." She shrugged. "You're the only one who could possibly understand where I'm coming from, you know?"

Kyle stopped and reached out to gently take hold of Rebecca's arms, and he could feel her flinch slightly at the sudden contact. He held up her arm so the bruises were in her line of sight.

"Does it have anything to do with these?" He asked, gesturing with his head at the ugly contusions.

Rebecca's lip trembled and she nodded her head. When she looked into Kyle's face her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"He's just been so angry, Kyle, even more so than usual. Ever since you two started talking again he's just been-" she looked away, a lone teardrop sliding down her cheek. She brushed it away roughly. "I guess things didn't really pan out the way he wanted, and now I don't even know what to do. I want to try and help him, but I don't know how."

Kyle's heart ached to see her so sad, and he let her arm go, suddenly feeling guilty for making her face the bruises in the harsh light of day.

"I can't do this anymore, Rebecca," he said. "And I don't think you should have to keep going like this either."

She laughed a little, but it was a brittle, wretched sound.

"What else is there for me at this point, Kyle? It's not like I can ever be normal, not with my history, and besides, Mark would never let me go." Suddenly, she reached out and grabbed Kyle's shoulder, startling him. "I don't know how to save myself but I want you to be okay. I realize now it was wrong letting you get dragged into all of this. I should've told you sooner what my brother is like, but I guess I'm just so, I don't know, captivated by him, that I couldn't really protect you. Does that make any sense?"

"It makes perfect sense, but I really don't think you're being fair to yourself. Mark does not have to be the focal point of your world, and if you let yourself, you can break away from him and live your own life. You deserve to be happy, too, Rebecca. Why can't you see that?"

"It's really hard to see beyond right now, Kyle," she said, and she smiled wistfully. She looked up toward the sky and shaded her eyes with her hand. "I'm going to try, but I don't know how to even take the next step. This has been my life for so long, and you know how Mark is; you can understand my position more than anyone." She sighed.

"So, when are you going to tell him?" She asked, her eyes still bright.

"Soon, I think. I just need to take the plunge."

"Well, do it soon, okay? For me?" She smiled. "I know he's going to go crazy, but I'd rather it happen now so he can just get it out of his system instead of just raging every single day." She rubbed her wrist. "I don't know how much more I can take, honestly."

Before Kyle knew what he was doing he was hugging Rebecca tightly to his chest, and he was surprised at how small she felt; almost like him. They were just two fragile people caught in an awful circumstance, and if he'd had the power, he would've carried her away from everything so she didn't have to continue suffering like this. For a moment, she was completely taken about, but after awhile, Rebecca hugged Kyle back, her warm arms settling around his shoulders.

"Can I have your number, at least?" She asked, her voice shaky. "It'd be nice to have it if I ever need to talk. I'd get it from Mark but the less he knows the better."

"Yeah, here," he said, pulling away. He pulled a piece of paper and a pen from his messenger bag and scribbled it down. Rebecca's cheeks were flushed a rosy pink when she accepted it.

"Thanks," she said, tucking it into her pocket.

As Kyle watched Rebecca walk away that late afternoon, as the sun fell behind the trees and the stars started coming to life in the soft twilight, he was besieged with a profound sadness that almost made his bones feel like they were made of water. It was hard enough having to deal with his own pain and fear, but to see Rebecca being hurt like this was just too much. Desperately, he knew that as much as he needed to save himself he needed to find a way to help her too, but as much as he wracked his brain he couldn't think of a way. Kyle realized he couldn't help her if she didn't want to be helped, and this knowledge was enough to tear him apart.

*****

"Can you believe the way that motherfucker was all over Kyle in the cafeteria yesterday?" Mark seethed. He took a long sip from a tumbler full of whiskey and had to resist the urge to throw the damn thing against the wall. "He did it just to bait me, and Kyle just sat there! For two fucking cents I would've killed that guy right then and there."

Rebecca just listened in silence, nursing a small glass of sherry. Above their heads, the stars glistened and a horned moon swayed through the clouds; night breezes stirred her hair every now and again. Mark walked to the edge of the balcony and grabbed the railing, wishing that he was tightening his hand's around Stan's throat instead.

"I know he's the reason Kyle is being so distant and weird," he said, softly. He took another drink of whiskey and held it in his mouth for a moment. "It's the only thing that makes sense. When Kyle was here everything felt almost perfect again, and then that fucker gets in his ear and all of a sudden we're back at fucking square one." Mark slammed the tumbler down on the balcony wall, ignoring the way the sound made Rebecca jump.

"And you," Mark murmured, coming over to his sister and placing a hand on the back of her neck, squeezing gently. "You haven't been acting like yourself, Becky. What's going on?"

Rebecca took another tiny mouthful of sherry and set her glass down so gently that it didn't make a sound.

"I've just been really tired lately, Mark," she said, rubbing her wrist. "And with the mood you've been in about this whole Kyle thing, I don't know, I'm just hollowed out. You know what I mean?"

Threads of annoyance were starting to develop in Mark's brain at her words, but he willed himself to stay calm. He picked up one of Rebecca's curls and wound it around his finger.

"Well, maybe I wouldn't be in such a bad mood if you were actually supportive for once," he said, and he pulled the curl slightly, making his sister yelp. Rebecca pulled away and stood up so abruptly that she almost knocked over her glass of wine.

"Supportive?" She repeated the word like it was being said through a mouthful of acid. "Supportive. You want me to be supportive? Are you fucking for real right now?"

Mark watched her impassively, just waiting. The thread of annoyance was giving way to faint anger now.

"Look at me, Mark," she said, and she held up her bruise covered wrists. Reaching down, she pulled up the bottom of her t shirt so he could see her thighs, and they too were covered in finger-shaped black and blue marks. Rebecca lifted her shirt higher to reveal her stomach and part of her breasts, where more contusions could be found.

Mark's eyes fell on his sister's body and he had to stop himself from smiling. His gaze lingered on a bite mark he'd left just the night before, and the sight of it made him start to get hard. Turning away, he went to pick up his tumbler so he could pour himself more whiskey.

"So I've been a little rough with you. Why is that an issue now, Becky? We've had plenty of rough sex in the past; you never complained before." He swirled the liquor in his glass and took a drink.

"This is different," she replied, and the edge in her voice reinforced Mark's growing rage. He was really starting to get tired of his sister's ongoing attitude.

"We aren't having rough sex for fun or whatever, not like in the past. I could live with your appetites because I viewed them as recreational, harmless, but now I know you're acting this way because you need to punish someone. You're angry with Kyle or Stan or God, probably everyone, but because you can't do anything to them you're taking it out on me, and it isn't fucking fair!"

Rebecca started crying, and Mark turned away. God, he hated emotional displays, especially when they were based on something completely ridiculous.

"I can't go on like this anymore, Mark! I can't deal with you hurting me, and I can't live with the fact that even after all of this I'm still not the person you need the most! I just can't!" Rebecca was sobbing now, but he still couldn't bring himself to look at her. All he could do was drink his whiskey and look out at the stars, but even they didn't seem to have the same power tonight as they normally did. It felt like the whole fucking world was just coming apart at the seams. He started when he felt a tug on the hem of his shirt.

Turning, he saw Rebecca had drawn close, and even though tears were still leaking down her cheeks there was a savage smile on her face, too. For a moment, Mark was completely taken aback to see so much malice there, and it was truly like looking at his own reflection.

"Kyle feels the same way," she said, softly. "He's just looking for the right time, but he's going to tell you that he's done too, Mark. He told me, and I know he means it."

Before he knew what he was doing, Mark had backhanded his sister, surprising even himself. In the course of their 17 years together he had never hit her like that, but that smug look of satisfaction on her face at his misery was too much. Rebecca fell to the floor, her heavy curls draped over her face as she brought a hand to her mouth, moaning from pain. Now the thread of annoyance and anger was giving rise to a different feeling entirely, one that was as unfamiliar to Mark as hitting his sister. He wasn't even sure what to call it but he pushed it away; he needed to get control of this situation immediately.

"Get up," he said. "Now."

Shakily, she managed to get to her feet, and when she brushed her hair away Mark could see that he'd split her lip, and delicate red blood was sliding down her chin. Her face was still awash in tears, and they caught the light of the caustic horned moon above them, making her face look almost as remote. Mark was surprised to see that the same look of malevolence was on his sister's face, but he chose to ignore it, not wanting to dwell and risk doing something worse to her.

She had to be fucking kidding about Kyle breaking things off. First of all, that was never going to happen, and secondly, why would he tell her something like that? Since when were they talking about this sort of thing on their own? It was almost like they were conspiring against him, and he just couldn't let that happen.

They regarded one another for a moment until the tension was almost too much for even Mark to take, when his phone started ringing. He broke eye contact and reached into his pocket, and when he pulled it out he groaned.

Fucking Eric. Why the hell was he calling?

Mark looked up at his sister, and now his anger was reaching a fever pitch, that dangerous place where he knew it was going to become uncontrollable; much like the night he'd stabbed their piece of shit patriarch.

"Get out," he said, softly. "We'll finish this conversation tonight, most likely around 3 am." He smiled to see the malevolence evaporate from Rebecca's face, and the fear that he wanted to see was taking its place. Without a word she ran from the room, slamming the door behind her as she went.

****

3 am.

It used to be the time of night that Rebecca wished for, dreamed of, but now it was quickly becoming the darkest part of her life. She looked into the bathroom mirror and watched the blood coursing from her mouth, and as afraid as she was in that moment, that same potent rage was sustaining her. Mark had the capability of being unbelievably cruel and brutal, but he'd never dared to hit her before; and right across the face? She could barely comprehend it. She'd changed into her favorite white night gown because it always brought her comfort, and she had had to dab blood away from her skin before it reached the delicate neckline.

Sighing, she thought about hugging Kyle the other day, and it felt like that was the last time she'd had a tender interaction with another person. At least with a person that could possibly understand her situation. Her mother was sweet but she was wrapped up in her work, and Rebecca accepted that, and her father was just himself, selfish and disinterested; Mark was all she had, and now she was really starting to realize how dangerous that was.

He'd been so hard on her lately, and she hadn't been kidding when she told Mark and Kyle that she couldn't take much more. She contemplated Mark's promise and the fact that the 3 o'clock hour was drawing closer with every moment that passed, and as angry as she was fear was also seeping into her flesh and making it feel cold. Rebecca's hands started to shake as she gripped the counter, and she started to regret throwing Kyle in her brother's face. Maybe she could apologize and he would be merciful with her that night?

On silent feet, she stole from her room and traveled the dim hallway back to her brother's door, and she was about to turn the handle when she could hear Mark's voice coming from within. He was still on the phone, it would seem. Still trembling, Rebecca pressed her ear against the door and listened, her heartbeat filling up her ears, and as she heard the conversation on the other side of the door, her image of her brother was shattered forever; irrevocably changed.

*****

The call had come in right before 3 am, and Rebecca had sounded frantic; nearly incomprehensible. Kyle had been broken from a deep, healing sleep and it had taken him a moment to come back to reality.

"Rebecca, calm down! What's going on?"

"Kyle, Mark, he, he-"

She broke off and Kyle could hear her sobbing. His heartbeat was starting to throb harder, and he tried to focus on the horned moon coasting through the sky; balanced in the windowpane.

"What did Mark do?" Kyle asked, clutching the phone harder until his hand ached.

"I don't know how he managed to do it, but he had something to do with you being attacked. I heard him on the phone and I don't know who he was talking to, but," she broke off, her voice cracking. "Kyle, he was behind the whole thing. I mean, I always knew he was capable of almost anything, but this, this is too cruel. You could've been raped, or, Christ, you could've been killed! And he doesn't even care!"

The room pitched as Kyle caught himself on his dresser, afraid he was going to fall over. He'd had suspicions, but to have them confirmed like this made it feel like the bottom had dropped out of his world completely. It called to mind the bruises he'd seen in the very beginning, the vague, broken memories, that one lost night that he'd pushed away because he could never be sure. There had been darkness and unknowns revolving around his interactions with Mark from the very beginning, and as alluring as he could be, there was no denying what he was anymore. Mark was truly a monster, a sinister waiting spider, walking around in the guise of a human being.

"Kyle, I told him that you don't want to have anything to do with him anymore, and he became so angry," Rebecca was saying now, when he was able to tune back into the conversation. "He hit me, hard. Mark is becoming completely unhinged, and I'm scared. For once, I am truly, truly afraid of him." She dropped into silence, and for a moment Kyle was afraid she'd hung up. "He said we would finish our conversation tonight at 3, that's always the time he comes to my room and-"

Kyle could hear her crying again, but this time it wasn't hysterical. Now it just seemed completely lost and alone and so deeply afraid that the sound made his blood run as cold as the knowledge that Mark had orchestrated Cartman's attack on him.

"Rebecca? Rebecca, calm down, okay? Can't you call the police?"

"No, Kyle, I can't do that! It'd be too humiliating! I'd have to tell them why I'm so afraid of Mark, and then the whole town would find out that we're -"

She broke off.

"No, I can't do that. Never. My whole life would come crashing down. I'm pretty sure Mark wouldn't give a shit because he doesn't care what anyone thinks, but I couldn't deal with the whole world judging us; thinking we're disgusting. No, I'll just have to deal with this on my own." She sighed. "I just wanted to tell you what Mark had done in case you had any reservations of cutting things off with him. I figured that just because I didn't save you before you got involved in all of this, I could at least help you now."

"Don't worry about that, Rebecca. I've never been so fucking sure about something in my life. Mark and I are through, but now I'm worried about you. You need to get the hell out of there."

Rebecca laughed, and it was almost as disturbing as her hysterical sobs.

"I don't have anywhere to go, Kyle. You know that as well as I do. Mark's even been able to cut me off from our father, so what do I have now? I'm fine, okay? I'll deal with this on my own."

"Rebecca, please -"

"Listen, I've got to go, alright? I need to, I don't know, prepare myself for whatever's about to happen. I'll see you at school on Monday."

"Rebecca, wait -"

The line went dead and the sound of silence that leaked into the room was almost deafening, and it pressed against Kyle's ears. The moon was still nestled in the windowpane, and more than anything Kyle wished that he was nestled in Stan's arms, but he'd had to work that night, and they'd decided to meet up the following morning. The loneliness of the night settled around him, and it was almost like he was the only person left in the world, save for Rebecca huddled alone and afraid in her ivory tower a mere 10 minutes away.

I can't just leave her alone like this, he thought, and he clenched his fist, both from anger and from fear. A light sweat broke out across his skin and he couldn't believe what he was about to do. Kyle pulled on a hoody over his t shirt and didn't bother to change out of his pajama pants. Before he could lose his resolve, he was slamming out of his room and down the stairs, where he pulled on his shoes and left the house; running away into the stillness of the night.

*****

The giant house had never looked more like a sleeping dragon than it did that night, and when Kyle stood in front of it, the moonlight dripping over the sharp angles of its roof, he was filled with a dread so palpable he could almost taste it. Fear was threatening to steal away his nerve but he fought it back, and he knew that Rebecca was somewhere inside and she needed his help. It was with a shaking hand that he opened the front door and willingly walked back into the belly of the beast.

Feeling like he was caught in a painting from the age of German expressionism, Kyle ascended the sweeping staircase slowly, the dimness in the house making the structures in the room jut out at bizarre angles. Everything just felt a little off and he supposed it had to do with his state of mind, but suddenly the interior of the house seemed to have been constructed by a madman as a way to entertain himself. Coming to the top of the stairs, his heart was pounding so wildly that he had clutch at the railing to steady himself.

Kyle was about to turn and head down the hallway that would take him to Rebecca's room when he felt a hand close around his wrist and squeeze tightly. He gasped and tried to pull away, but the hand was gripping him with a ferocious strength that he knew all too well. All at once, he was being yanked down a familiar hallway toward a door he'd hoped he'd never have to enter again; the portraits of dead ancestors smiling like poltergeists along the walls as they passed.

Before he knew it, Kyle was being pulled into Mark's room, and he was overcome by the blue-green light of the fish tank; the gossamer curtains billowing from the late night breeze. Mark finally let go and pushed Kyle toward the bed, where he stumbled and fell against it. Quickly, he sat up and regarded Mark, who was standing before him like a slim, wicked arrow; dressed in his usual dark clothing and wearing a smile that bordered on being absolutely insane. He was wearing his glasses, too, the light from the fish tank illuminating the lenses when he turned a certain way.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, and his voice was almost enough to cut and draw blood. Mark went over to his dresser where he picked up a tumbler that was already filled with an amber fluid.

"I came over to make sure Rebecca was okay," Kyle stammered, watching as Mark took a long drink. "She called me."

"Oh, she did, did she? That's interesting." Mark took another sip. "And what did she have to say?"

Anger rose up in Kyle at that moment, and he was so tired of being intimidated by this monster that he stood up and dared to face him down.

"She told me the truth, Mark, and I'm glad that she did because you sure as fuck were never going to do it."

Mark sipped his drink, and he looked askance at Kyle.

"The truth about what?"

"Give it up, you psycho!" Kyle yelled, amazed that Mark could still try to pretend and be so indifferent to everything. "I know you conspired with Cartman to have him attack me, so you could find a reason to bring me over here again! You're unbelievably sick, Mark. You need some fucking help!"

Mark just laughed at Kyle's exclamation, just serving to reinforce his fury.

"That fat fuck," he said, still laughing. "It was just so easy. All I had to do was offer him a little extra help and he fell in line just like any idiot would do. I'd heard plenty of stories about him being some kind of evil genius but clearly the reality didn't live up to the legend."

"A little extra help? What are you talking about?" Kyle asked.

"Oh, just a little something I use on occasion to," he paused a moment, thinking. "Help with relaxation. You know what I'm talking about, Kyle. It's not like it was the first time I used it on you."

Kyle stepped back like he'd been punched.

"You gave Cartman something so he could drug me and attack me?" A realization flooded his brain, and when he spoke again, it was in a whisper. "That first night we hung out, you-"

Kyle faltered.

"Yes, in your bottle of water," Mark replied. "I thought surely you'd figured that out by now."

Kyle sat on the edge of the bed in a daze.

"I had my suspicions but I didn't want to believe they were true. So you've been lying from the beginning."

Mark shrugged.

"You're uptight and repressed, Kyle. You needed to relax, so I helped you. I didn't do anything to you that first night, not really, anyway." He looked faintly dreamy for a moment. "I just admired you, held you. I was probably a little more aggressive than I needed to be because I never meant to leave bruises on you; at least, not at that point. But, I have to admit, I haven't been the same since that happened. Actually, I'm pretty sure that's the moment I decided you were going to be mine."

"I'm not yours, Mark. All of this," Kyle gestured at the room, his arms wide. "All of this is over. I'm done. I don't know why I waited to tell you this, but it's the truth. We are never going to be together again, regardless of the crazy shit you pull. Do you understand that?"

Mark was silent for a time, and he acted like he almost hadn't heard a word Kyle had said. He sipped his drink, and when he had finished it, he looked at the tumbler, turning it in his fingers. Before Kyle could ask him if he was even listening, Mark reared back and hurled the glass at the corner of the room, where it collided with the fish tank and completely decimated it, extinguishing the blue green light and sending a flood of water to settle across the floor. All Kyle could do was stare as the fish flipped and flopped on the carpet, completely at a loss for words.

All at once, Mark was shoving him backward on the bed and Kyle was being pinned down again, his wrists wrapped up in Mark's hands. His mind filled with the floating sensation again, and he could see all of the other times that this had happened in this very room, but the only difference this time was that the murky light was gone, obliterated by Mark's deep and abiding rage. Kyle tried to fight, in fact, he fought harder than he ever had before, but Mark was too strong, too determined to always have his own way, regardless of the lives he destroyed in the process.

Kyle was screaming and pleading as Mark held him down, and he could feel his wrists being gathered together in one of Mark's hands, and Kyle grew cold when Mark's fingers slid under the waistband of his pants. Slowly, they were being pulled down and Kyle was crying and begging for him to stop, but Mark was gone completely and only the monster was there. Through the haze of terror Kyle wondered if Mark had ever existed in the first place, or maybe the monster was always the truth, and Mark was just a lie.

He'd just decided to shut his eyes and admit defeat when a scream broke through the air and Mark was stiffening up, his hand loosening on Kyle's wrist and letting him go. He could hear Mark groan and then he was writhing again, and a shudder ran through him that passed onto Kyle. Droplets of liquid dripped onto Kyle's exposed stomach, and they were warm as they slid down his skin. Mark was climbing off of him now, and Kyle just lay there for a moment, trying to figure out what had happened, while his heart leapt like a wild rabbit in his chest. He dragged a hand through the substance on his abdomen and sat up, contemplating it. Caustic moonlight was filling the room and taking the place of the blue green light's absence, and he almost vomited when it illuminated the blood clinging to his fingertips.

Kyle looked up and saw Rebecca standing there, dressed in a white night gown with roses on the neckline, but the entire front of it was covered in a garish splash of crimson, and in her hand was a jagged piece of the destroyed fish tank; also awash in the blood of her brother.

****

 Dimly he was aware that he'd been stabbed by something; multiple times.

Mark managed to push himself off of Kyle, and the agony of not being able to be with him again was almost as painful as the wounds on his back. Hot blood was pouring out of him, and he could smell its metallic odor, and all of his senses seemed to be in overdrive as he crawled onto the floor.

Before he passed into the darkness Mark looked up to see Rebecca standing there, wearing a nightgown that was drenched in his blood; his avenging angel fresh from the battlefield, it would seem. She gazed into his eyes and he saw the fury there as it mixed with fear, but the most powerful thing he could see was love, even in what he could safely consider his darkest hour.

He smirked and dropped his eyes to the floor, and he could see his blood pooling outward and catching the moonlight. Love had led him to this place and it was ultimately destroying him, and now he was being regarded by his conspirators as he bled out in front of them. Fleeting images of Caesar being murdered at the foot of Pompey's statue filtered through his quickly fading brain, and he had to bite back a laugh.

As Mark closed his eyes and gave into the pain and darkness, all he could wonder was what the point of all of this had been? This senseless melodrama that didn't seem to serve anyone? Had it all been for love? Who even knew at this point, but it was almost a relief to be able to rest for awhile, even if it meant that it would be for eternity.

 


	33. Part II; Mark/Kyle's/Rebecca's POV - Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really fun to write, and honestly I held off for awhile bc I wasn't sure if I could make it flow, but I think it came together nicely. 
> 
> I also held off on writing this bc I needed to get my head straight so I focused on fluffier, happier stories, lol. (Yes, I am actually capable of writing stories where people aren't constantly being fucked over - quelle surprise!) But you know how it is, after awhile my thoughts started drifting back to our fallen sociopath and his hapless pawns, and I just couldn't resist getting back into the groove.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy...if anyone's even still reading at this point, lmao. :D

"Mom, here. I got you some coffee," Rebecca said, pushing a Styrofoam cup into her mother's trembling hands. She glanced at Kyle as well, holding out another cup which he gratefully took.

They were sitting in the waiting room at Hell's Pass in the middle of the night after Mark had been rushed there, and now they were waiting in a horrible limbo. The large clock on the wall ticked away relentlessly while Dr. Cotswolds tapped her foot against the floor until the two sounds became one and the same in Kyle's jumbled thoughts. In fact, he seemed hyper-aware of his surroundings, could smell the roses emanating from Rebecca, along with the sickening metallic odor of Mark's blood, which clung to her nightgown.

"I can't believe Mark fell through the window," Dr. Cotswolds said, clutching at the cup like it was a lifeline. "I just, I can't believe this is happening." She took a tiny sip and grimaced, her features scrunching up.

Kyle and Rebecca glanced at one another, their faces impassive even though they were both hiding a horrible secret. Rebecca pulled her red shawl around herself, attempting to cover up the wreck her nightgown had become; splashes of blood smeared up the front that were quickly turning a burgundy color. Kyle glanced down at her right hand and although it was clenched shut he knew the cuts were there from the broken piece of glass; deep gashes across her palm and fingers. He winced just thinking about them, and he knew they were only there because she'd been trying to protect him from Mark. Kyle burned with shame, guilt, and rage; but the emotion that seemed to trump everything was fear, cold, unsettling fear. Who knew what was going to happen now?

Dr. Cotswolds had been on call at the hospital when she'd been alerted that they were bringing her son in, and that he needed to be rushed into emergency surgery. She'd met them at the doors and immediately started crying when she'd seen Mark, pale and unresponsive, his face covered with an oxygen mask and his eyes slits in his face. Quickly, she had moved out of the way because she knew that time was of the essence, but still she cried and dropped a tiny kiss on Mark's forehead, her hand covering her mouth as she watched them rush him away.

Now the three of them were sitting together and trying to make sense of the entire situation. Rebecca looked completely wrung out, absolutely drained, and Kyle could see the beginnings of a faint bruise on her cheek and splashes of blood drying in her hair. He looked down at his own hands and saw the many tiny cuts marring his skin, and his stomach clenched up with fear and guilt; nausea crawling up the back of his throat and threatening to spill over.

Before he knew it, he was setting down his cup of coffee and rushing away toward the men's room. He'd barely made it to the first stall and managed to lock the door behind him before he was clinging to the toilet and throwing up everything in his stomach. He heaved and wretched until he was completely empty, until the only thing he was bringing up was sour bile that burned like fire coming up. Afterward, he lay his head against the cold porcelain, completely spent, and he tried to make his mind go blank but it was no use. He could still see the shard of glass in Rebecca's hand, the blood covering the front of her, Mark sprawled on the floor and gasping in pain before finally passing out.

Kyle could even feel the weight of Mark's body on top of him before he'd been stabbed, the whiskey on his breath, his aggressive hands pushing up his shirt and trying to pull his pants down. He clutched at his head and wanted to scream to make the thoughts go away, but they were relentless, and they just kept coming and coming and coming -

"Kyle?"

A tremulous voice cut through the quiet of the bathroom and Kyle looked up, feeling like he was truly starting to lose his mind. What was Ike doing here? Quickly, he sat up and scrubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand, the taste of vomit and bile still strong and terrible on his tongue. He stood and flushed the toilet, making sure that he hadn't made a mess of the seat or the floor. Finally, he unlocked the stall and exited to see Ike standing there, still in his pajamas but with a zip up sweater as well. His heart hurt to see his little brother standing in the hospital in the middle of the night, looking so young and fragile; his eyes wide but shadowed from being awoken too suddenly.

Kyle went to the sink and ran the water, scooping some into his mouth so he could wash the taste of being sick away. He splashed the water on his face, too, and washed his hands with soap until they felt raw; the water so hot that it was practically scalding him. Even after he'd washed them for several minutes they still didn't feel clean, and he knew that soap and water weren't going to make that happen. He looked into the mirror and saw Ike watching him, and he tried to smile but it came out looking more like a grimace.

"Everything's going to be okay. I promise," he said, his voice hoarse from throwing up and fatigue.

Ike nodded but he didn't look entirely convinced.

"Mom and dad are in the waiting room with Mark's mom and his sister," he said, watching as Kyle scrubbed his hands dry with a paper towel. "Kyle, what happened? Nobody will tell me anything."

Kyle looked down at his hands, too ashamed to look into his brother's eyes as he lied to him. Instead, he focused on the multitude of puffy cuts littering his skin, and as he dried his hands aggressively he reveled in the ache because at least it was something tangible he could hold onto.

"There was an accident. A friend of mine got hurt pretty badly, and now they're operating on him."

"Is he going to die?" Ike asked, his eyes somehow growing larger.

Kyle shook his head, and he pressed on his wounds some more to ground himself. Suddenly he remembered that Mark's blood had dripped on his stomach and he wet the paper towel. Turning away, he lifted his shirt and dabbed at the wayward streaks of red. His hoody had been destroyed so he'd discarded it before coming to the hospital, not wanting to walk in with smears of blood saturating the fabric.

"I don't think so, Ike, but I can't be sure, you know? They haven't really told us anything since we got here."

Suddenly Ike looked sad, and he sniffled a little. Surprised, Kyle threw the paper towel aside and put an arm around his brother's shoulders, and was surprised to feel that he was shaking a little.

"What's wrong?" He asked, hugging him close.

"I just feel so bad, Kyle. I told you I didn't like that guy, that I thought he was weird, but now he might die and I..." he looked down, biting at his lip. "I mean, I still think he's weird and I'm pretty sure he isn't a nice person, but I didn't want him to get hurt."

Kyle sighed, and a feeling of deep tenderness flooded through him when he saw how upset Ike was. He really did have a good heart, and in that moment it honestly made Kyle feel a little better. After the night he'd had he needed some kind of confirmation that good still existed in the world, even in the presence of monsters like Mark, and by extension, himself and Rebecca. Guilt gurgled inside of him again, but he fought it away as he hugged his brother, the bright lights of the hospital bathroom covering them with its sterile brilliance.

****

Hours later, after the sun had already crested the mountains and flooded the world with its soft light, the ER surgeon finally came out to talk to Dr. Cotswolds and Rebecca, who was so tired at this point that she didn't even try to cover up her blood-soaked nightgown anymore. Her mind was blurry with fatigue and worry and such a deep feeling of guilt that she didn't think it would ever go away. She'd pulled her hair into a bun on her head so at least it wasn't laying like a weight across her back anymore, but in doing so was reminded that there were splatters of her brother's blood drying and matting the curls.

Dr. Cotswolds had nervously gone to talk to the surgeon while Rebecca stayed behind, curled up in one of the uncomfortable waiting room chairs, her bare legs tucked beneath her. She probably should've put on pants before coming to the hospital but in the frenzy that followed her attacking her brother she honestly hadn't even thought about it. Now her legs were freezing and she couldn't help but feel like everyone in the hospital was judging her for being half-dressed while waiting for news of her critically injured brother. Suddenly, she wished that Kyle and his family had stayed, but her mother had insisted that they go home and get some rest; that she'd contact them with any new developments. Rebecca had never felt more alone.

"Oh, thank God!" Her mother exclaimed, and Rebecca mustered up the energy to lift her head and glance at her. Dr. Cotwold's face was transfixed with joy and she looked at her daughter, her eyes flooded with happy tears. Rushing over, she took Rebecca's hands in her own and squeezed them so hard it almost made Rebecca wince.

"He's going to be alright, Rebecca," she said, her voice hushed and trembling with emotion. "Mark's going to be just fine!"

Before Rebecca could respond, her mother was hugging her close and crying against her shoulder. Her relief was clearly so profound that she could barely speak at that point, and Rebecca wrapped her arms around her weeping mother, even as fear and another darker emotion filled her up; anger, maybe? She couldn't be sure that she'd made the right decision, but in that moment she was genuinely glad that her mother was so happy. Rebecca had never wanted to hurt her mother of all people, and in many ways she really didn't want to hurt her brother either, but -

She shook her head. There was time enough to think about the details later, and reluctantly she allowed herself to feel relief that Mark was going to be okay. The ER doctor hovered for a moment, watching Dr. Cotswolds cry from joy and Rebecca impassively holding her, stroking her back and murmuring that she was thrilled about the news. Out of the corner of her eye, Rebecca saw his face change though, and she had a feeling she wasn't going to like what he was about to say next.

"Lydia, there is something else," he said. He cleared his throat uncomfortably when she turned to him, a questioning look on her face.

"What, David?" She asked. "What is it?"

"Well, it's just the nature of your son's wounds," he glanced at Rebecca but she noticed that his eyes skipped away quickly, almost guiltily. "I'm afraid they don't really match up with how the accident was explained to the paramedics. There are some," he paused, and he looked at Rebecca again, but this time his eyes held hers, "inconsistencies, I'm afraid."

Dr. Cotswolds hand found Rebecca's, and she squeezed it gently. Rebecca squeezed back, even as her heartbeat ramped up dramatically, suddenly making her feel faint.

"It's just, we were told that he fell through his balcony window after drinking too much, and while his blood alcohol level was elevated, the puncture wounds on his back just don't fit with that scenario." He crossed his arms, and stared at the floor, seemingly unable to look at either of them now. "Lydia, we think he was stabbed."

Dr. Cotswold was squeezing her daughter's hand so tightly now that she almost cried out, but she managed to stifle it. Her mother's other hand lifted to her face, and all of the joy that had been there just a moment ago was completely gone. Now she looked ghostly pale, and her hazel eyes were wide with shock.

"You can't be serious," she said, her voice faint and brittle. It hurt Rebecca to hear her mother sound so lost, bordering on destroyed, really. "Who would do that? I can't think of anyone wanting to hurt my son, David. As far as I know he doesn't have an enemy in the world."

Rebecca had to turn her face away now, because even she couldn't help but roll her eyes after her mother said something as outrageous as that. When she looked back, both the ER doctor and her mother were staring at her and she could feel herself blanching.

"What?" She asked, trying to feign complete and utter innocence.

"Rebecca, sweetheart, please tell me what happened last night," her mother said. In the the harsh light from the hospital coupled with the early morning sunshine streaming through the windows, she suddenly looked so much older; the faint lines around her eyes and mouth much deeper than they'd been before. "What happened to your brother?"

"I already told you, mom," she said, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice. "Mark had too much to drink and he accidentally broke the window on the balcony, and then he lost his balance and fell through it. It's as simple as that."

Dr. Cotswolds glanced back at the ER doctor, her eyebrows raised. He still looked acutely uncomfortable.

"Lydia, we're still going to have to call the police," he said, scratching his forehead.

Dr. Cotswold's stood up so quickly that she almost dragged her daughter with her, but at the last moment she let go of Rebecca's hand.

"You can't be serious! David, my daughter just told you what happened!" She exclaimed, her face reddening now. "I don't see any reason why the police need to get involved!"

He shook his head, and he appeared honestly contrite for having to put a grieving mother through such turmoil.

"You know it's hospital policy, Lydia," he shrugged helplessly. "We have to call the authorities in situations like this; it would be irresponsible and unethical not to." He reached out and touched her arm softly, but she drew away. "You know my hands are tied."

Suddenly, Dr. Cotswolds was waving him away, clearly done with this entire exchange.

"I want to see my son, David," she said, her voice cold but controlled.

"Of course," he replied, opening the waiting room door. "Follow me; I'll take you to him."

******

They'd been there pretty much the entire day before Mark finally opened his eyes and his head turned weakly on his pillow, regarding his mother and sister, who quickly rushed over at the first signs of movement. Dr. Cotswolds leaned over him and kissed his cheeks while whispering nonsense into his ear, her hands fluttering over him, worrying at the blankets and making sure he was comfortable. Mark took this in stride and managed to show more patience than he typically would. However, his dark eyes caught and held Rebecca's, and they were full of a deep, savage understanding; rage simmering beneath his weariness.

Rebecca could only stare back at her brother, her hands clenching at the scrub pants her mother had given her to wear. She always had backup scrubs in the trunk of her car. The decimated nightgown was wrapped up in a clear hospital bag and placed on a chair in the corner. Her eyes drifted to it for a moment but when Mark cleared his throat abruptly she shifted her attention back to him immediately. Even though her brother was temporarily incapacitated he still seemed to have the same power over her, and the triumph she'd felt after stabbing him had given way to the old terror and weakness. Suddenly, more than anything Rebecca wanted to be back in the waiting room with Kyle, who'd rushed to the hospital after her mother had called his parents and given them the news that Mark was out of surgery and okay.

"Mark, what happened?" His mother asked, still kissing his cheeks. "Rebecca said you had too much to drink and fell through a window! I just couldn't -"

"We'll take it from here, ma'am, if you'll please step back." Two detectives came into the room then, and Rebecca sighed. Detective Murphey and Yates; she'd had more than enough of them for one day. They'd already spent the better part of the day grilling her and Kyle about the events of the previous night, but this whole affair seemed to be blood in the water for them, and they were aggressive in their supposed pursuit for the truth.

"Really, detectives, my son just woke up. I don't think -"

"We don't need to know what you think right now, Dr. Cotswolds," Yates said, his voice gruff. "What we need is to talk to your boy so we can get a clearer idea of what happened last night." He eyed her closely. "Unless of course you're not interested in finding out the truth?"

Dr. Cotswold's sputtered and backed away, placing an arm around Rebecca's shoulders and holding her close.

"Of course I want to know the truth, but I'm pretty sure I already know what it is." She glanced at Mark, who was still watching Rebecca closely. "I'm not proud that my son was drinking, gentlemen, but really, accidents like this happen all the time, don't they? I don't see why we need to blow this whole situation out of proportion."

"Believe me, we aren't interested in making a bigger deal out of this than we absolutely have to, doctor. However," Murphey turned to look at Mark, and then his eyes cut to Rebecca and they narrowed a little. "We've been told that the physical evidence doesn't match up with the details of the events, so you can't blame us for being a little concerned."

"Well, no, that makes perfect sense, but -"

Yates held up his hand and Dr. Cotswolds lapsed into silence, still pressing Rebecca against her side. Mark wouldn't break eye contact with her, and after a moment she was startled to see a brief smile flit across his lips, but it was gone as soon as it came. A light was burning in his eyes now, and he'd never looked more terrifying than he did in that moment, because she knew he was scheming; planning.

"Now, we've spoken with your daughter and the Broflovski boy, but now we need to hear your son's story, because his recount of the events is the most important." He turned to Mark who managed to tear his eyes away from his sister, and he regarded him tiredly, even as the light continued to burn in his eyes. "Are you feeling up to talking, son?"

Mark was quiet for a moment, seemingly mulling this question over. Finally, he spoke but he didn't really answer the detective's inquiry.

"I want to see Kyle," he croaked, his voice lacking its usual strength. He cleared his throat, and when he spoke again he sounded a little stronger, almost like his old self but not quite. "I'm not answering any questions until I've seen Kyle."

*****

He'd woken up in a bleary haze of beeps and bright sunshine flooding the room, and everything around him was white and clean; sterile. He breathed deeply but his nose was filled with dry oxygen, and when his eyes flicked downward he saw that something was attached to his face; assisting him. He wanted to tear the fucking thing off but he quickly realized he barely had the strength to move his head, let alone lift his arms, which were hooked up to a multitude of machines; needles poking out of his skin and tubes running every which way. Looking around, he saw his mother watching him, her heart in her eyes and looking terribly old in the harshness of daylight. She rushed forward and started pawing him, but he didn't have the capacity to push her away though he would've liked to.

Mark suffered through his mother's attentions while still trying to acclimate himself to the situation, and for a moment he was completely disoriented. That is, until the pain in his back began to throb hotly, and the ache almost took his breath away; forcing him to remember. When he looked over his mother's shoulder and his eyes met those of his sister's, everything came crashing back to him and he'd managed to clench his hands around the blanket covering him. Rebecca was dressed in too big hospital scrubs and almost all of his blood had been cleaned from her skin, save for a few flecks that still lingered in her curls. Seeing them made Mark's hands clench around the blankets harder, his knuckles aching along with every other part of his body, it would seem.

He was so focused on his sister that he could only vaguely hear his mother talking about some bullshit story about him getting drunk and falling through a window, and that's how he'd gotten hurt. Mark had had to really hold himself back from laughing at such an asinine, flimsy story, but he kept tight control of himself. Small snatches of the night before were filtering back to him, and he could remember being on top of Kyle, his Kyle, when his sister had attacked him. He could vividly recall being on the floor and looking up at her and watching his blood pool away, and then he must have drifted off. Another memory came to him then, and it was new; he could vaguely remember feeling pressure on his back and frantic voices, suddenly broken by the sound of shattering glass. Then he had slipped under again.

Mark was pulled from his memories by the appearance of two detectives, and he wanted to roll his eyes at their obvious incompetence. Not that he was surprised, it wasn't like South Park was going to attract the very best of law enforcement, but really, it should be a crime for everything to be so simple. A sudden smile crossed his lips, but he made it disappear almost immediately, though he was sure that Rebecca had seen it. It was amazing that he could almost be killed and still be holding all the cards, and sometimes, like now, he felt unbelievably tired of dealing with fools and simpletons. In the midst of his less than flattering musings regarding mankind as a whole, a single word, a name, broke into his thoughts; something about the Broflovski boy, and suddenly they had his full attention. He looked away from Rebecca, though it was hard, and his eyes settled on the detective closest to him.

"Are you feeling up to talking, son?" The orange haired detective was asking him the question directly, but Mark had a few conditions of his own before he'd even think of answering any questions.

His voice sounded like a rusty gate opening when he finally spoke, and he basically demanded that they bring him Kyle or else he wouldn't answer any questions. Mark noticed that the detectives exchanged a glance, but the dark haired one left the room, and in a few moments Kyle was there, his face pale and frightened. Mark's hands were practically strangling his blankets now as his eyes slid over him, and he was amazed that he could still find him so beautiful even after what had happened. Worry and fear had etched their sorrows into his flesh, and Mark couldn't help but admire the shadows under his eyes, making the bright green stand out even more. He could've sighed just looking at him, and somehow he managed to lift his arm enough to grasp the side of his bed. With a colossal effort he turned his hand over, and opened it to Kyle, beckoning him over.

Mark knew that with all of the attention focused on Kyle, and with everything at stake, there was no way he'd deny coming over to him and taking his hand. When he felt Kyle's cool, slender hand take his own the pain in his back died down a little, and his head started to clear. He could see the reluctance in Kyle's eyes, could read it in his face, but Mark could only delight in touching him again, and he smiled. Mark looked around Kyle and saw that Rebecca was watching closely, her eyes narrowed and suspicious, her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip, and that secretly thrilled him too. Suddenly, all he wanted was to be with both of them at the same time, his Kyle and his Rebecca. Maybe they'd made some mistakes, huge errors in judgement, but he could correct that; he could still bring them in line, and they'd given him the perfect opportunity.

"I'm ready to talk, detectives," he said, his fingers tightening around Kyle's. Kyle eyes widened for a moment, and his lips parted like he wanted to say something, but he stopped. More than anything Mark wanted to kiss that mouth, those conniving, underhanded lips. "What do you need to know?"

"We need to know what happened last night, Mark," the darker haired detective said, coming forward. He glanced down at Mark's hand entwined with Kyle's and he cocked an eyebrow, clearly confused by this turn of events. "We've gone over your sister's story, as well as Mr. Broflovski's, but we need to hear the events in your own words. Can you remember anything?"

Mark looked directly into Kyle's eyes as he answered, and he wanted to tell him not to be afraid, that he'd protect both of them, but of course he couldn't; they would have to go over all of the details later. He wanted to laugh hysterically, too, because they'd managed to give him even more power than he'd had before. Who knew that being critically injured could present so many opportunities? And what was truly funny was that Kyle would've been just fine if he'd just stayed out of it, but clearly he'd stretched out his neck to help Rebecca; to help cover up a crime, which made him complicit and therefore, guilty. That's what having a Savior Complex got you, he supposed. Really, they would've been better off just letting him die, but he guessed it just wasn't in their natures; their sweet, innocent, trusting personalities.

Now they were both at his mercy, and he relished it, but of course he couldn't let his savage pleasure at having the upper hand again register on his face. Instead, Mark sighed like he'd never been more exhausted, and he gazed up at the detective, making his eyes wide and hopefully benign; the very picture of innocence and bewilderment.

"My head is really foggy, detective, but I think I can remember some of what happened." He looked down at the blanket like he was afraid of being chastised for being so hurt and confused. Mark felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder and the detective was speaking to him gently now, reassuring him that he could take his time and that he didn't need to push himself; that they had all the time in the world.

 _Yes_ , Mark thought, looking up and catching Kyle's eyes again, and then Rebecca's, and he smiled. _We do have all the time in the world now, don't we?_


	34. Part II; Mark/Kyle's POV - Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: sexual assault/violence
> 
> I'm not going to lie, this part was fun to write bc I'm a sick puppy. I had an annoying day at work so naturally it put me in the frame of mind for being savage. Poor Kyle, I adore him so but i keep putting him in such dire straights...but such is life, right? To live is to suffer.
> 
> Hope you enjoy (if anyone's still reading)!

**In your mind you've already succumbed to me**  
**Dropped all defenses, completely succumbed to me**  
**Now you are here with me, no second thoughts**  
**You've decided, decided**

**-Past the Point of No Return, The Phantom of the Opera**

* * *

 

Kyle stood before the door, unable to bring himself to open it. In fact, he couldn't even imagine putting his hand on the knob, let alone twisting it and actually pushing it open. He never thought he would find himself back in this position, yet here he was on a Friday afternoon, contemplating walking back into Hell. It was funny how quickly circumstances could change on a dime. Gritting his teeth, he finally forced himself to lift his hand to the doorknob, and in one careful, fluid motion, he turned it and he was walking back into Mark's bedroom.

Mark was sitting up against his pillows in his large bed, almost lost among the blankets piled around him. Rebecca sat off to his side, her hand in his lap and Mark brushing his fingers across it slowly. When Kyle entered the room, they both looked up and Mark smiled, while Rebecca regarded him with sad, hazel eyes; turning away after their gazes caught for a moment. She was dressed in a white sundress and her hair was piled into an elegant bun, and it didn't take long for Kyle's eyes to rest on the silver collar around her throat, the delicate links catching the sunlight pouring through the windows.

Kyle stood at the foot of the bed, his heart pounding like a jackhammer in his chest and his hands clenched at his sides, waiting. Mark lifted Rebecca's hand to his mouth and kissed the knuckles tenderly, gently, and murmured to her softly, but not so softly that Kyle couldn't hear what he said, and the words made him freeze.

"I want to be alone with Kyle for awhile," Mark said, kissing his sister's hand again, and she nodded slightly, and her face took on a blankness that was more startling than the sorrow had been. She stood from the bed and turned to go, but at the last moment stopped, looking back at her brother.

"Are you sure you didn't need me to bring you anything else?" She asked.

Mark waved her away, shaking his head.

"No, thank you, love. I'll be just fine," he replied, his tone warm, but it didn't make Kyle feel any more reassured.

Rebecca's hand stole to her collar and touched it briefly. In a moment she was hurrying past Kyle and for a second it almost seemed like she was going to stop and say something, but then she kept moving toward the door, the scent of roses following in her wake. Kyle watched her go with a sinking heart and as the door closed behind her an acute feeling of real, cold fear crept up his throat, but he tried his best to fight it down. Glancing over at Mark, Kyle saw that he was watching him closely, but he was still smiling; that casual, easy smile that was so unlike his usual calculated smirk.

"Are you going to come closer, Kyle?" Mark finally asked, patting the bed beside him. "I'm not going to bite you; I promise."

"Are you sure?" Kyle asked, coming closer, but slowly. Drawing near, he saw that Mark's face actually had some color in it, even after being cooped up inside the hospital and then his room for weeks. He'd finally been discharged and sent home with strict orders to rest and take it easy, but Kyle could see the restlessness in his dark eyes; growing and becoming potent.

"Stop being silly and sit, please," Mark said, and his voice was so kind and soft that Kyle almost didn't recognize it.

Kyle sat beside Mark, but tried to perch himself on the edge of the bed as far away as he possibly could. Glancing at him, Kyle placed his hands on his knees and squeezed the fabric of his jeans, perspiration breaking out across his back. This was the closest he'd been to Mark in weeks, having managed to keep his distance while Mark was convalescing in the hospital and then when he first came home. It wasn't until today, when he'd woken up to Mark's text summoning him, that he knew his reprieve was coming to an end.

He'd kept in touch with Rebecca, of course, but their correspondence hadn't been overly involved, mainly because he knew that Mark was watching her closely, and to avoid creating any incriminating evidence that could be used against them. Ever since that horrible night when Rebecca had stabbed her brother, Kyle felt like he'd been under a magnifying glass, and he hated every moment; hated that they'd basically gift wrapped themselves for Mark to use at his will. When Mark hadn't given them away to the detectives, Kyle couldn't believe it, until his true motives became clear, though he didn't even have to articulate them; Kyle just knew, and so did Rebecca.

Kyle had visited Mark a few times in the hospital to keep up appearances and from plain fear, afraid that if he didn't at least show his face that Mark would change his mind and reveal the truth. He'd even gone so far as to bring Mark flowers, after his mother had insisted and basically forced the bouquet upon him. They'd languished on Mark's bedside table at the hospital for weeks, the lovely cluster of roses and baby's breath slowly becoming dry and faded with every visit. Kyle could've vomited at how fooled his parents still were over Mark, especially his mother, but at this point it didn't surprise him; nothing really surprised him anymore when it came to Mark.

All at once, a gentle hand was drifting up Kyle's arm and he had to fight the urge to pull away, but he stayed still while Mark dragged his fingertips over his skin. Eventually, Mark's hand came to settle on the back of Kyle's neck and he was pressing into his flesh, making him turn his head to face him. Kyle's eyes swiveled to meet Mark's and the usual cold darkness wasn't there, amazingly. Rather, Mark's eyes were soft and warm, sweet like twin pools of rich, brown coffee. He'd been so kind ever since he'd woken up in the hospital, ever since he'd asked the detectives to bring Kyle to his room so he could hold his hand while he recounted what he could remember from that last, fateful night.

"I've missed you so much," Mark said, stroking Kyle's face. "You didn't come to visit me very much in the hospital, Kyle."

Kyle shook his head and looked away, suddenly feeling too vulnerable to look into Mark's eyes anymore. He didn't recognize them, and he couldn't help but feel like this was all a farce.

"I needed some time to myself," he said, watching the shards of sunlight falling across the floor. June sunshine flowed like yellow butter, creamy and smooth over the world outside, and the soft smells of impending summer floated through the open balcony door. "I don't think you can really blame me for that, can you?"

"No, of course not," Mark replied, still running his finger along Kyle's cheek. "I needed time to think, too. I think we all did, honestly." Sighing, he dropped his hand from Kyle's face and pushed the blankets back slowly. "Can you help me stand, please? I'd like to go outside and get some sun, maybe smoke a cigarette."

"Do you really think it's a good idea for you to get up?" Kyle asked, arching an eyebrow in disbelief. "And you seriously want to smoke? Are you crazy?"

"Kyle, please don't argue with me, okay? I'm not so fragile that I can't stand on my own balcony and enjoy a cigarette," Mark replied, holding out a hand to Kyle.

Reluctantly, Kyle stood and accepted Mark's hand, and with deliberate care helped him rise from the bed, his body clad in pajama pants and a long sleeved black shirt. Somehow, Mark looked leaner after having been confined to bed, and Kyle was surprised at his sudden concern; was he eating enough? Shaking his head, he couldn't believe the crazy direction of his thoughts, and focused instead on helping Mark cross the floor toward the balcony. When they came close, Mark reached out and stroked the panes of glass in the repaired balcony window, and suddenly that old smirk was on his face again.

"It's almost like I never fell through it in a drunken stupor," he commented, glancing at Kyle, who could only flush in response. Walking out onto the balcony, Mark let go of Kyle's hand and reached into his pocket, drawing out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Leaning against the wall he lit it up and took a long drag, and for a moment he almost looked like his old self, self-assured and completely calm.

Kyle looked out at the grounds and waited, his heartbeat slowly starting to pick up, because Mark was just so placid, so still, and that just wasn't him. He gazed down at the pool and marveled at the fact that he was back in this place, back where it all started, and he was more in Mark's clutches than ever before, and he'd been the main proponent behind his current circumstances; the thought making him want to hang his head and never look at himself in the mirror again.

Mark worked on his cigarette, clearly enjoying it and the warm sunlight, clouds of smoke puffing from between his lips and streaming from his nose. Idly, Kyle watched the sunlight catch the chestnut highlights in his hair, and once again he could barely believe how attractive he found Mark, even then; even after everything that had happened.

"So," Mark finally said, flicking some ash from the cigarette, his eyes still trained on the expansive grounds flowing away from the house. "I guess we have quite a few things to discuss, don't you think?"

Kyle leaned against the balcony wall, his hands jammed in his pockets and feeling incredibly frustrated. He had a feeling that this conversation was going to play out at Mark's pace, so he might as well get comfortable and play along. It's not like he had a choice, right?

"I guess," he muttered.

Mark was silent for a time until the quiet became unbearable, and Kyle was forced to look at him, his heart thumping painfully in his chest when he saw that Mark was staring at him, just watching and waiting; his face thoughtful. Kyle swallowed, his throat feeling tight.

"What?" He asked, the tension gnawing at him like rows and rows of teeth.

"I'm just amazed that I still want you so much," Mark said. "Even after everything, I still want you to be mine."

"W-what are you talking about?" Kyle hated the stutter in his voice but he couldn't help it. Mark always had the power to get to him, to rip open his back and crawl inside.

"Don't try to play dumb, Kyle," Mark said, gently; his voice overwhelmingly tender. "You know what the situation is. You have to."

"Maybe," he replied, dropping his eyes to the ground, studying his shoes. Oh, god, why couldn't he be anywhere but here?

Mark finished the cigarette and stubbed it out, flicking the remainder away in an easy, smooth gesture. Kyle watched it sail away and settle on the floor, and suddenly he could remember Mark doing the same thing during Wendy's Halloween party a million years ago. He watched the still smoldering tip, wishing he could disappear.

"It's such a shame that you and Becky had to betray me like that," Mark continued, softly. "I mean, I wish things hadn't worked out quite the way they did, but if it means having you back, I can live with it. In fact, I couldn't be happier."

"Yeah, I bet," Kyle snapped, rolling his eyes. "You win and everyone else loses, right? I bet you're fucking ecstatic, you sick fuck."

All of a sudden, Mark was moving faster than Kyle thought he was capable of at this point in his recovery, and all at once he felt Mark's hand tangling in his hair and pulling his head back sharply. Yelping, he stared at Mark, who still seemed completely at ease, even as he held Kyle captive, his fingers wound through his curls.

"Mark, what are you -"

"Quiet," Mark said, simply, his tone completely devoid of nonsense. "I realize now that I was too soft with you Kyle, so I'm partially to blame for all of this. I gave you too much freedom, too much leeway, and who knows, maybe if I hadn't, none of this would've ever happened." He tugged on Kyle's hair again, but softer, clearly to emphasize his point. "Now, if I let you go, will you promise to watch your mouth?"

Kyle was completely taken aback, his head throbbing, so all he could do was nod in response, his eyes wide. Slowly, Mark let go of his hair, and then he was stroking Kyle's cheek again.

"Now, I'm willing to forgive you completely for helping to cover up Becky's crime, even though you two did a horrible job." He rolled his eyes and snorted. "Did you really think anyone would've fallen for that piss poor coverup if I hadn't backed you up?"

"I-I d-don't know," Kyle said, his words welling up thick in his throat. "We weren't really thinking, I guess."

"Clearly," Mark replied. "I'm sure you also noticed that I didn't explicitly tell the police that you and my sister were innocent, of course. I left it open, that if and when I remembered the truth, I'd come to them."

Kyle nodded, Mark's words filling him with dark dread, so powerful it threatened to choke him. Here was the monster, after all, masked by the feigned softness; always waiting.

"I still can't understand what would possess Becky to turn on me like that, but I'll chalk it up to," he thought a moment, then shrugged. "Heightened emotions, I guess? We were all pretty wound up that night, weren't we?"

Kyle just stared at him, completely floored by how unwilling Mark was to see how reprehensible his conduct was, even after everything that had transpired between them.

"Mark, you had Cartman drug me, y-you had him try to rape me, and then when I confronted you..." he trailed off, unable to finish the rest because it was still too awful to think about, let alone say out loud.

"I became a little emotional, I'll admit," Mark conceded, brushing some hair out of his eyes. "But, Kyle, everything I did was because I missed you. I needed you to come back."

"You missed me so much you encouraged Cartman to attack me?!" Kyle practically shrieked, feeling like he was teetering on the edge of a new type of madness. He almost felt like he was being sucked into Mark's special brand of insanity.

Mark frowned and reached out a hand, placing it on the back of Kyle's neck; the fingers squeezing softly but still sending a note of warning through Kyle's skin, making him recoil.

"Don't raise your voice at me, Kyle," he said, his voice dark. "Those days are over. Do you understand?"

When Kyle didn't respond Mark's hand tightened, making him wince. Without another thought, Kyle was nodding his head frantically. Mark smiled and loosened his grip, but didn't take his hand away.

"I never had any intention of letting Eric do anything to you, Kyle," he said, sighing. "Honestly, it was like swallowing acid knowing what he wanted to do to you, and me having to play along to even have a chance of getting close to you again." He looked at Kyle, almost seeming contrite. "I know my methods are unorthodox but I was desperate, even though I hate having to admit to it. You wouldn't talk to me, Kyle; Christ, you wouldn't even look at me. What else was I supposed to do?"

"You could've just let me go," Kyle whispered, dropping his head, tears threatening the corners of his eyes. "You could've just listened to me, but you never listen. Never."

"Yes, I do, Kyle. I listen to the things you don't say," Mark said, and he was drawing Kyle close, leaning down with his mouth mere inches away from Kyle's lips. Kyle whimpered and tried to turn away, but Mark held him tight. After a moment, he smiled, and Mark's eyes became soft again, and dreamy. "God, I've missed you," he murmured, and he licked at Kyle's bottom lip, sighing when his lips parted and Kyle started breathing heavily, his heart frantic in his chest.

In one swift movement, Mark was kissing Kyle, and his tongue was sliding between Kyle's lips and into his mouth, soft and searching. Like a flower unfolding, Kyle opened to him even as the fear bloomed in his brain, creating a red haze he could barely see through. Mark tasted of cigarettes and minty toothpaste, and Kyle could smell his shampoo and his clean clothes, and his senses were betraying him, making him swoon against his will. On every level Kyle knew that this was wrong, that he should fight, but Mark always made him seem so weak, and now he didn't know how to fight when Mark had the deck stacked against him; using seduction and fear to bring Kyle to heel. How could he possibly win now?

Mark's mouth was hot and insistent against Kyle's, his hand still gripping his neck and his other hand resting on Kyle's hip, pulling him close like he used to do, the fingers digging in and the bruises waiting to appear again, bleeding across his skin in shades of violet and black. Somewhere in the blur that was intoxicating Kyle's brain he wondered if he should just go to the police on his own and throw himself on their mercy, beg for forgiveness, but he knew he couldn't. He vividly remembered Rebecca's fear the night she attacked Mark, the shard of glass trembling in her hand as she looked down at what she'd done. Kyle could see the blood splashed up her front in angry carmine streaks, recalled the way it clung to his own fingertips, and he could almost smell their terror, the way it came off of their flesh in waves.

Kyle gripped Mark's arm with his hand, and dimly he could also remember wrapping a long length of a torn-up t-shirt around his fist after he and Rebecca had taken turns pounding at the balcony window with a chair until it started to splinter; could recall the way it felt when he'd punched the glass and caused it to shatter and fall inward across the floor to make it look like Mark had stumbled through it while standing outside. They'd both known that their story was flimsy, full of holes, but they'd been so frantic and afraid, and Rebecca was sobbing and begging Kyle to help her, to save Mark. He'd given in because he didn't want to see Rebecca suffer anymore, especially after she'd gone out of her way to save him.

No, going to the police wasn't an option and Kyle knew it, even though Rebecca had called 911 almost immediately, while Kyle had staunched the flow of blood from Mark's wounds with the same t shirt he would end up ripping to shreds so he could safely break the window. They'd made the mistake of showing Mark mercy, but clearly he didn't have the heart to do the same; why would he, when now he suddenly had everything he wanted in the first place? Kyle was trapped, sealed, and there was no turning back now. Vaguely, he could feel warm tears streaking down his face as Mark kissed him, and he hated the horrible desire that flared inside of him, even as the hatred and rage threatened to devour him completely.

*****

Kyle wasn't aware, couldn't possibly know, the plans that Mark had in store for him. Even as Mark kissed Kyle on the balcony, his hand resting on his neck and reminding him who was in power again, Mark was already filled with ideas he couldn't wait to put into action. Kyle needed to be trained, he needed to learn, and Mark was going to make sure that he did. He'd been so easy on him before, too indulgent, and Kyle had rebelled, so now they were starting at square one, weren't they?

Mark didn't want to give himself away, could never belie his true feelings because they made him seem weak, but he was still simmering with all-consuming rage at what Kyle and Becky had done. Every time his back throbbed in the middle of the night or he had to move slowly because of the pain that came without warning, the anger flowed over him swiftly and threatened to engulf him completely. It was in those moments that he had started to plot and it was from the pain that he'd made his decision about Kyle; about what needed to be done.

Mark pulled away and looked at Kyle, and as much as he wanted to put bruises on his skin and fear in his eyes, he couldn't help but be captured by his beauty as well. He was aware that fear would be the ultimate deciding factor in binding Kyle to his side; fear of the unknown and fear of punishment. Kyle was under his thumb in so many ways, but now it was time to twist the screws. Mark was prepared to make him his little doll, whereas before he would've been willing to give him some freedom. That had been his first mistake, of course.

"You're mine," he murmured, twisting a pretty red curl around his finger. "Say it."

Kyle's green eyes widened in incredulous surprise, and Mark could see disbelief as well as raw humor welling up in them. He waited for the push back, and wasn't surprised when it came. Kyle pulled away, and even had the gall to remove Mark's hand from his hip.

"There's no way I'll ever say anything like that," Kyle said, narrowing his eyes. "You're out of your mind."

Quick as a flash, Mark reached out and grabbed Kyle's hair again, admiring his throat as it flashed whitely when he yanked his head back. Kyle whimpered, the sound pitiful and almost making Mark smile, though he managed to hold it back. Instead, he kissed Kyle's neck and nipped at it a little, admiring the rapid pulse beating just below soft flesh.

"Must you always be so contrary?" Mark asked, kissing along his jaw and whispering his words in Kyle's ear. "Even now?"

"Mark, please. I can't..." Kyle replied, tears still sliding from his eyes. Mark lapped up a few, savoring their taste; savoring the beginning of the journey. He knew that Kyle was too stubborn to give in so quickly, but it was going to be so fun to see him finally cave.

"Yes, you can," Mark said. "It'll come in time. Everything in it's own time, right?"

Kyle's body slackened a little, even as his eyes still remained sharp, and Mark kissed him again with his fingers still tangled in Kyle's hair.

"You know what would make me happy, Kyle?"

Kyle didn't respond right away, and Mark corrected him with a gentle tug. Quickly, he shook his head, green eyes suddenly worried. Mark stroked his throat, but he made his touch exceedingly tender.

"Let's get your collar, shall we?"

******

It was with savage, unadulterated pleasure that Mark watched Kyle slowly strip off his clothes, his cheeks flushed pink and rosy, until he was completely naked before him. Mark admired the pretty, delicate flesh that he'd been deprived of for so long, and he drew Kyle close as he sat on the edge of his bed; gripping his hips and his eyes trailing all over his body. For a moment he allowed himself to get lost in holding him again, breathing deeply of his clean scent, but before too long he remembered what needed to be done and he held up the collar. Kyle stepped back but Mark caught him, holding him, and he stood, draping the black leather around his neck and tightening it. Smoothly, he attached the leash to the collar as well and tugged on Kyle gently.

"On your knees," he said, softly. When Kyle hesitated, even momentarily, Mark pulled on the leash sharply, making him cry out. Almost immediately, Kyle sank to his knees, covering himself with his hands as apprehension washed over his face.

"Oh, no," Mark murmured, and he pulled on the leash again. "Don't cover yourself. I want to see you, Kyle. It's been too long."

Shame flamed in Kyle's cheeks as he let his arms fall to his sides, and he looked down at the floor. Mark reveled in the sight of him capitulating, and he could feel himself becoming hard, but he tried to focus; he wanted this to last. He sat back on the bed and reveled in Kyle's glory, in his innocent beauty, and could've sighed with happiness, even though he knew he was going to have to break Kyle's heart in just a moment. He yanked on the leash, commanding Kyle's attention, and when he had it, he spoke.

"When was the last time you let Stan fuck you?"

Kyle blanched, his teeth worrying his bottom lip; flashing pearly in the sunlight streaming in. Mark was kind and gave him a moment to collect himself, but after another moment passed he pulled on the leash, but hard enough to make Kyle almost fall forward.

"I asked you a question, Kyle."

"I don't remember," Kyle stammered, staring down at his hands draped loosely in his lap. Mark smirked, easily knowing a lie when he heard one.

"I'll give you one more chance to tell me the truth," he said. "I promise it'll be easier if you just answer the question."

Kyle started to tremble a little, and Mark just thought it made him more lovely; little delicate flower, so frail.

"I guess a few weeks ago," he finally said, and then he looked up. "I haven't really wanted to do anything since you've been away. It felt...wrong." He flushed again.

"Oh? Is that it? Or was it because Stan doesn't know how to fuck you like I do?" Mark asked, still smirking.

Kyle's eyes widened until they were round as saucers, and a flash of anger appeared, small but undeniably present. It actually excited Mark a little; he enjoyed Kyle's fire as long as he could control it, too.

"Mark, why do you have to say things like that?" Kyle asked, becoming a little louder. "You know I hate it!"

Mark tugged on him, his face stern.

"I told you not to raise your voice to me, Kyle, and I meant it. Now, we need to discuss this Stan situation because, frankly, it's overdue, and I'm done sharing you with him."

"What are you talking about?" Kyle asked, his voice shaking. "What are you saying?"

"I'm telling you that Stan isn't going to be fucking you anymore, Kyle," Mark replied, his voice low and angry. "He isn't going to kiss you, or touch you; in fact, you aren't even going to talk to him unless I specifically tell you you can. Got it?"

Kyle crawled forward on his hands and knees, his eyes brimming with tears; his hands up and grasping at Mark's shirt.

"No, you can't do that! Please!" He started sobbing. "Please, Mark!"

Mark resisted the urge to yank on the leash and put Kyle in his place, opting instead to reach down and stroke his face tenderly, his thumb stroking its way through the moisture on his cheek. Leaning down, he kissed Kyle's lips softly.

"I can do it, Kyle," he said, softly. "And I am. If I find out you've done anything with Stan, and that includes just a casual conversation, and you haven't checked with me first, I'll make your life miserable. I think you know I have that capability now." He ran his hand under Kyle's chin and tipped his head backward, tears still coursing from his eyes. "Now tell me you understand."

Kyle just continued to cry, unable to meet Mark's eyes, his entire body shaking with his sobs. Mark let him continue for a moment but after awhile he wound the leash around his hand and tugged on it, regaining his attention.

"Tell me you understand, Kyle. Now."

Kyle just shut his eyes and cried like his heart was breaking, and Mark was almost sure that it was; poor, sweet baby. How else was he supposed to make him learn, make him behave? Couldn't he see that Kyle belonged to him, and only him? How could they establish that fact if someone else was touching him, defiling his property; marring his Kyle? All at once, Kyle's tears were too much for him, and he found himself becoming painfully hard, aroused by Kyle's need to rebel and resist what was clearly meant to be. Mark slackened the leash a little and stood, and Kyle stopped sobbing momentarily, his eyes wide and watchful.

"Get on the bed on your hands and knees, and don't make me ask you twice," he commanded.

Shaking and with tears dripping down his face, his whole body flushed, Kyle slowly obeyed and crawled onto the bed, and once he was in position Mark reached out and stroked along his back, making him cringe away. Mark steadied him with a firm but tender hand and told him to stay still, that everything would be okay in just a moment. Kyle hung his head as Mark slipped two fingers between Kyle's lips and instructed him to suck, which he did as Mark admired the pretty pink and white skin shining in the sunlight of his room; the late afternoon washing in through the curtains.

Kyle gasped when Mark slid his fingers into his opening, stretching him, and the sound was like sweet music to his ears, more beautiful than mariage d'amour by de Senneville, and he knew that he was going to hear the piano music filling up his head as he fucked Kyle again for the first time in months. Slowly, carefully, he prepared Kyle to be taken, his mouth filling up with moisture that he had to swallow down as Kyle's throaty little moans broke through the music playing in his mind and consumed him, filling Mark with rapture.

"I'll make you forget all about Stan," he breathed as he slid into Kyle's tight, resisting heat, and Mark truly felt like he was home again as he filled the little redhead completely. "I'll make you say you're mine, Kyle. Maybe not today, but you'll know it soon enough; you'll know."

*****

Kyle could only bite his lip and cry as he felt Mark invading him again, claiming his body as his own. He felt the collar looping his throat and the sensation mirrored being choked by Mark's elegant hands, hands that held him down as he begged for mercy even though it wasn't going to come. He felt himself being stretched and opened wide, and his mind flashed back to the other times where he'd been subjected to the same sweet agony, and he hated his body for betraying him and succumbing to the pleasure brought about by Mark's skills; his expert touch.

He continued to gnaw at his lip and tried to focus on what little comfort he could derive from the situation, though it was minute at best, but Kyle couldn't help but think of Stan and the tears would overflow again; making him hang his head as Mark gripped his hips and pushed into him, the motion making the mattress squeak and thrusting Kyle's body forward. Kyle wasn't surprised that Mark was attacking him this way, threatening to separate him from Stan, because he knew that when they were together they were so much stronger, and he was almost certain that that frightened Mark to some degree.

But, still, he couldn't even conceive of being taken away from Stan, and his fingers curled in the blankets as he wept with every moment Mark was inside of him. Stan's face was there in his mind, and all Kyle wanted to do was run to him and get lost in his arms, become completely trapped in his embrace; hear Stan's sweet voice taking away his fears and worries. Kyle needed Stan now more than ever and Mark was ripping him away, and it was this cruelty above all else that burned in his heart and took his breath away.

How was he ever going to explain to him that he didn't want this, could never possibly want this? How was Stan ever going to understand if he couldn't even talk to him? Frantically, Kyle tried to consider his options, even as Mark held him so tightly he was writhing, rational thought being chased from his brain. There was no way Mark could know his every move, right? If he planned it very carefully, there had to be a way for him to communicate with Stan; by text or maybe stealing to his house late at night, safe in the darkness? Mark couldn't be everywhere even though it certainly felt like he was; a malevolent phantom that could see everything Kyle did, and knew everything that he thought.

All at once, Mark was breaking into Kyle's thoughts, and for an awful moment he thought he could actually hear him plotting, and his heart sped up until he thought it might burst. Mark squeezed his thighs, speaking softly.

"Turn over, baby," he instructed, softly. "I want to look in your eyes as I come inside you."

Wordlessly, Kyle obeyed and Mark was laying him back against the pillows, drawing his arms above his head and telling him to grip the headboard.

"Don't let go," he growled, raising Kyle's hips and sliding his arms under his legs, raising him up and opening him. "If you do, I'll punish you, and it won't be like last time; this time you won't enjoy it in the slightest."

Kyle gulped and held onto the headboard tightly, terrified at Mark's threat because he knew that he meant every word he said. After a moment, Kyle was arching his body and moaning as Mark entered him again, and he was fucking him slowly as Kyle's hands curled on the wood behind his head. Desperately, he tried to think of Stan to take him away from where he was, but Mark grabbed his chin and forced him to look into his eyes as he thrust into him, and Kyle couldn't help but stay in the moment because he had no choice. Biting his lip, more tears fell down his cheeks.

"What were you thinking about when you looked away?" Mark asked, kissing Kyle's throat and biting softly, his sharp canines gouging into sensitive skin. "I can tell you weren't focused on me." He pulled away and looked into Kyle's face again, subtle anger flaring in his eyes. "You weren't thinking about Stan, were you?"

Kyle was caught off guard, not expecting this question, and his hesitation seemed to be answer enough for Mark. Reaching up, he ripped Kyle's hands from the headboard and tightened his grip around his wrists until Kyle moaned from the pain. Leaning forward, he kissed Kyle's throat again, but this time when he bit down on his skin he did it much harder than last time, making Kyle scream and arch up in anguish. When he drew back, his smirking mouth had a faint tinge of blood, and new, potent terror arrested Kyle.

"You don't belong to Stan anymore, Kyle," he seethed, thrusting harder now. "You belong to me, and if you don't stay away from him, I swear I'll kill him, and that's a promise."

"No, no," Kyle choked out, but he didn't dare look away from Mark, their eyes locked through every slow, savage roll of Mark's hips.

"I know you don't believe me, but I have ways of finding out everything you do, everyone you talk to," Mark whispered, and Kyle could tell he was getting close to coming because of his tone, low and primal and full of urgent need. He tightened his hold on Kyle's wrists as he teetered on the edge. "You can try to hide, but I'll know, and then Stan will pay the price because you couldn't just fucking obey." With a gasp, Mark was shuddering as Kyle felt his heat fill him up, and his whole body was aching from being with Mark again after so long, and as promised, Mark looked in Kyle's eyes the whole time he came; essentially sealing Kyle to his side, where he could never escape.


	35. Part II; Mark/Kyle's POV - Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Sexual assault/violence - really, just violence in general. If you don't want to read about that stuff, please steer clear, okay?
> 
> This chapter gets pretty intense so I apologize for that. Really, I apologize for how twisted this story is, but I can't deny that I've enjoyed writing it thus far. Maybe that says something deeply disturbing about myself, but oh well. I mean, Mark is a monster, but he's my monster, you know? This whole process has been extremely cathartic bc I've dealt with my fair share of awful people, so, I guess this is almost therapeutic or something. Who knows? I'm kind of tipsy right now, lol.
> 
> Well, enjoy, and once again, if you don't want to read about rape/sexual violence/abuse DON'T READ THIS. Fair warning and all that.

"There, isn't that better?"

Kyle kept his eyes on the swirling bathwater as it sloshed against his legs, which were bent and pulled tightly against his chest so he could rest his chin on his knees. He could feel a washcloth being dragged along his back, and the fragrance of clean cotton was all around him, almost calming him; but not quite. The water was warm and he derived meager comfort from that, but even so, all he could do was drift as Mark tenderly washed him.

He felt one of his curls being pulled softly, and he shifted uneasily in the tub, suddenly aware that Mark hadn't been asking a rhetorical question; he expected an answer.

"I suppose so," Kyle replied, turning his head so his cheek rested against his knee, his eyes trained on the wall instead of Mark. The sound of piano music floated in from Mark's bedroom, and Kyle tried to focus on it because even in the midst of his situation it was soothing; almost transporting him away from where he was.

"I noticed that you always seem to sleep better after you've had a bath," Mark commented, pouring water over the back of Kyle's neck. "I think it helps relax you, don't you think?"

Kyle just nodded, faint anger rising in his stomach now. After a moment, he couldn't stop himself from speaking up.

"You notice everything, don't you?" He asked, his voice acidic. "Just so you can use it to your advantage, huh?"

Surprisingly, Mark didn't retaliate physically the way Kyle assumed he would. Instead, he continued to stroke Kyle's skin with the washcloth softly.

"I can't help being observant, Kyle," he said. "Especially if it means being able to take care of you better."

"I'm not your fucking pet," Kyle seethed, drawing away. "You talk about me like I'm a dog or something."

Mark rolled his eyes and stood up, setting the washcloth aside.

"I'm well aware of that," he replied, sighing. "You mean far more to me than any dog ever could. You're the light of my life and I adore you. If I haven't made that abundantly clear already, I apologize." He went to grab a towel and came back, gesturing for Kyle to rise so he could start drying him off.

Kyle didn't move, though, opting instead to stare at Mark in utter disbelief. Did he even listen to himself, to the crazy things he said?

"This," he paused, clearing his throat, "Mark, this isn't adoration. You have to know that." Kyle waved a hand. "This is the furthest thing from love that I could possibly think of. If anything, this is just obsession, so please, don't confuse this situation with something completely different."

"So, because my idea of love doesn't match up with yours it's wrong? It doesn't count?" Mark asked, dropping his hand on Kyle's neck and squeezing a little, giving a warning. Kyle rose and allowed Mark to wrap the towel around his body.

"I'm pretty sure no one on the planet would confuse your feelings for me with love, Mark. You love being in control, you love getting your way, you love bending people to your will; you do not love me." Kyle suffered through Mark wiping him down, his hands strong and sure as he rubbed the towel over his heated, flushed skin.

"Well, I won't argue the point with you, Kyle," Mark replied, offering him a hand so he could step out of the tub. "I know how I feel and I suppose that's all that matters in the long run, right?"

Kyle shook his head, his hand still held loosely in Mark's as they went back into the bedroom.

"See, that's just the thing. If you loved me, it would matter to you how I feel about this; you'd actually listen to what I have to say and take it into consideration." Kyle drew his hand away and stepped back, holding the towel tightly around himself.

"Did I ever tell you that I noticed you before you blew up at me during tutoring that one day?" Mark asked, seemingly ignoring what Kyle had just said. "It was in passing, but I was drawn to you when you'd speak in class; give your opinions. I can remember thinking how pretty you were, even back then."

Kyle cocked an eyebrow, taken aback at this information.

"I thought you said you didn't really pay attention to anyone at school. Except for Rebecca of course," he added, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling.

Mark shrugged.

"I mean, I didn't linger on you or anything like that, but I actually didn't mind listening to you if you spoke up." He smiled. "I like how opinionated you are, it's refreshing."

"I find that hard to believe, considering you're constantly threatening to punish me whenever I speak up," Kyle snapped, looking around for his clothes.

"I threaten to punish you when you mouth off," Mark replied, his eyes narrowing. "I like hearing your opinions when it comes to general matters, but when you backtalk me, that's a different story."

"Of course it is," Kyle sneered, still looking for his clothes. Finally, he found them stashed next to Mark's bed, bundled up in a tangle of blankets. Trying to be casual, he slipped his hand into the pocket of his jeans, feeling for his phone.

"Looking for this?" Mark asked from behind him, a smile in his voice. Kyle glanced over his shoulder to see Mark holding up his phone, and his heartbeat immediately picked up; beginning to pound.

"Give that to me," Kyle said, faintly. He turned around and reached out, but Mark pulled the phone away. Feeling helpless, Kyle let the towel drop from his shoulders as he frantically tried to grab his phone, with Mark keeping it just out of his reach. Finally, Kyle stopped in frustration, and he hated the way his voice trembled when he spoke. "Mark, this isn't funny. Give me my fucking phone!"

In less that a second, Mark slapped Kyle across the face; not hard, but with enough force to take him completely by surprise. Kyle held a hand to his cheek, staring at him in shock. Mark remained calm, still holding the phone out of Kyle's reach.

"I told you things are going to change, Kyle," Mark said, smoothly. "And that includes knowing who you're talking to and controlling your communication. You get yourself into too much trouble, so clearly you need someone to monitor the situation." Fluidly, Mark pressed the button on the side and then easily unlocked Kyle's phone, his finger tracing out a 'Z' on the screen.

"How did you know..." Kyle gaped at him, eyes wide. "I changed my unlock pattern after we stopped hanging out. How -"

"I'm observant, Kyle. Remember?" Mark's finger was hovering over the icon that would open up Kyle's text messages, but before he pressed it he glanced at Kyle, regarding him closely. "Let's see who's been trying to bother you. What do you think?"

Kyle glared at him, his cheek stinging softly and stirrings of hate welling up inside of his gut that actually took him by surprise. He found Mark repugnant but this was the first time caustic loathing had really stirred inside of him, and he hoped the emotion registered on his face. Mark just smiled at his expression, at the way Kyle's hands were clenched into fists at his sides, and clicked the icon.

"Oh, big surprise," Mark commented, dragging his finger down the screen. "Stan wanted to know if you can hang out tonight." He peered at Kyle. "I guess you didn't tell him you were coming over here, huh?"

Kyle shook his head, rage building inside of him on the heels of fear as he waited for Mark to tell him that there was no way he'd be seeing Stan that night.

"Actually, that doesn't sound like a bad idea," Mark murmured. His thumbs quickly tapped out a message; when he was done he looked up at Kyle, and smiled. "Get dressed. We're going out."

******

Less than an hour later, Kyle found himself standing in a daze in Stan's bedroom, Mark beside him with his hands jammed in his pockets; his stance deceptively casual and serene. Stan had shut the door and was standing in front of it, his face awash in complete disbelief. He hadn't been the one to answer the doorbell, and Mrs. Marsh, not being privy to the situation at all, had told Kyle and Mark to just go on upstairs; that Stan was waiting in his room.

Feeling like he was almost in a trance, Kyle had led Mark up the stairs to Stan's door, and hating himself with every second that passed, had knocked softly. In a moment, Stan had answered, his happy face completely changing when he saw that Kyle hadn't come alone. He'd stepped back and Mark had taken that opportunity to push Kyle forward so they could enter, grinning at Stan the whole time; his face the very picture of malice and devious glee.

"W-what's going on? Kyle?" Stan asked, and Kyle's heart broke again to see how confused he looked.

Silence filled up the room and Kyle couldn't help gazing at Stan's little twin bed, at the rumpled blankets where he could be lying right now; wrapped up in Stan's arms, safe and sound. Golden sunlight poured into his mind as the afternoons of the past flooded his memory, and he wanted to lose himself in every touch and whisper and kiss; wished desperately that he could go back to the beginning and start again. Kyle's lip trembled as he tried to formulate an answer to Stan's question that would even begin to make sense so that he could understand.

"Kyle, are you going to say something? He asked you a question," Mark said, and his voice was like a knife being pressed to Kyle's throat, making him shudder.

"Hey, shut up, man. Kyle will answer when he's good and ready," Stan snapped, and Kyle wanted to tell him to stop even as he enjoyed hearing someone put Mark in his place, even if it was just for a moment. "Just what the fuck are you doing in my house anyway? You aren't welcome here."

"I wanted to be here when Kyle told you the good news," Mark said, and his soft tone made Kyle's skin crawl. In a moment, he felt Mark's arm wrapping around his waist and pulling him close. He yelped in surprise, but didn't resist, allowing himself to be pressed to his side.

"Hey! Get your fucking hands off of him!" Stan came forward then, his hand clenched into a fist and drawn back like he was going to punch Mark. Kyle felt Mark's arm tense around him, his fingers digging into Kyle's skin, and he knew that he was giving him a signal to intervene, or else.

"No, stop!" Kyle said, stepping in front of Mark slightly, shielding him with his body. He raised his hands and pleaded with his eyes for Stan to listen. Stan responded by stopping, his face flushed and angry, with his fist still raised and ready to knock Mark out. With a trembling voice, Kyle spoke into the sudden quiet of the room, loathing every disgusting word that poured from his lips, because the words weren't his; they were Mark's.

"Stan, I-I can't be with you anymore," Kyle said, softly, his voice faltering slightly. "I decided to give Mark another chance. Please understand." He looked into Stan's eyes and tried to convey the truth, tears welling up and starting to spill over. Now he desperately wished that he'd told Stan what happened the night Rebecca stabbed Mark, but he'd been so afraid that he couldn't find the strength to tell anyone. He could barely wrap his mind around the idea himself, so trying to explain the events to another person, even Stan, had seemed like an insurmountable task. But now, more than ever, he wished that he hadn't kept it to himself.

Stan's blue eyes seemed frozen as he gaped at Kyle, studying his face and darting to take in Mark's arm wrapped around Kyle every now and then. Slowly, he shook his head.

"There's no way that's true," he said. Stan stared daggers at Mark, his face murderous. "I know you're forcing him to do this, you dirty motherfucker. You probably have something you're holding over his head, because I know Kyle would never go back to you willingly." He stepped forward, his teeth gritted. "Why can't you fucking leave him alone already? You've been terrorizing us for almost a year - when are you just going to fuck off and leave us alone?! Kyle fucking hates you!"

"Is that so?" Mark asked, his arm tugging Kyle closer as he reached down to cup his face, turning his eyes away from Stan to look up into his own. Kyle stared up into his dark eyes and he could feel something splintering in his mind to see such malevolence; so much dark pleasure at the suffering of others. "Why don't we show Stan how much you hate me, Kyle?"

He whimpered when Mark's lips found his own, and he could hear Stan's sharp intake of breath as he watched Mark kiss him. Teardrops poured from the corners of Kyle's eyes as Mark licked his lips apart and his tongue was delving inside his mouth, the heat of it filling him up and threatening to scorch him from the inside out. Kyle's whole body was shaking by the time Mark finally pulled away, and for a moment he didn't think his legs were going to be able to support him. Daring to look up, Kyle looked at Stan, his face awash in shame and tears, and he dared to defy Mark because the pulverized expression on Stan's face was just too much to bear.

"Stan, I still love you, please -"

But as quickly as the defiance rose up Mark swiftly quelled it by lifting his hand from Kyle's side to grip his neck, his fingers sinking in harder than ever before. Kyle stopped speaking immediately, terrified that he'd openly gone against Mark, inviting his wrath.

"I didn't tell you to speak, did I?" Mark whispered in his ear, and Kyle shook his head, the splintering sensation breaking through his mind again. Mark's grip loosened and he kissed Kyle's temple softly. "Good little doll. Just be patient, we'll be leaving soon."

Turning to Stan, Mark smiled, and it was filled with every venomous emotion he could muster.

"I think it's pretty obvious that whatever you had with Kyle is done," he said, every word measured and careful; deliberate. "So, I suggest you stay away from him unless you want him to suffer unnecessarily. He's where he belongs, and I'll be taking care of him now." Savagely, he pulled down the hood of Kyle's sweatshirt, which Kyle had been careful to draw over his head before arriving at Stan's house; ashamed at the collar Mark had made him put back on before they left. He also didn't want Stan to see the deep bite mark that'd been left behind when Mark had fucked him before; red and raised and practically a tattoo screaming out Mark's ownership of him.

Stan gasped when both of these things were revealed, and there were tears in his eyes when he tried to draw forward. Mark warned him not to come closer, all the while stroking the collar and running his finger over the bite mark, pressing it slightly and making Kyle wince against the throb. After a moment, he slipped a finger under the collar and pulled it softly, demanding Kyle's attention.

"Tell him who you belong to, Kyle," he instructed. "Now."

Kyle hesitated, balking at this command. He couldn't. He just couldn't say those words! Mark laughed a little and yanked one of his curls indulgently.

"Like I said, everything in it's own time," he murmured. "We'll get you there, Kyle. Everyone has their breaking point, don't they?" He glanced over at Stan who was crying openly now, even though his stance made it obvious that he wanted to beat Mark to death with his own hands. "I'd say you just about reached yours, huh?" Mark smirked, kissing Kyle's cheek.

"You fucking bastard," Stan seethed, his voice broken by fury and misery. "Can't you see what you're doing to him? You're destroying Kyle! Why can't you just let him go?"

"Because he's mine," Mark said, simply. "I've finally brought him home."

 ******

"On your knees," Mark commanded, and he was gratified when Kyle complied immediately. His lithe white body draped itself on the floor, pure and perfect; wearing only his collar with the leash looped around Mark's hand.

Mark sat on the edge of the bed and just studied Kyle, his eyes scanning over every slope of his body; lingered on the freckles on his shoulders and spanning the bridge of his nose. He was truly almost like a little princess, his red hair flaming in the lamplight and his delicate bones pressing upward through soft, yielding flesh. Flesh that very soon was going to be marred and torn, because Kyle needed to learn, and he needed to start learning now.

"You told Stan you loved him. Right in front of me," Mark murmured, and he winced a little when his back throbbed; his stab wounds almost completely healed but still feeling like hot stones pressing into his skin. The sensation just heightened his rage, which he was trying to conceal from Kyle because he wanted him to think that everything was calm.

Kyle's hands clenched in his lap, and Mark could see that they were shaking. Good, let him be afraid; he should be.

"I do love Stan," Kyle said, unable to look up and meet Mark's eyes. "I can't just stop loving him, Mark." Suddenly, his face was lifting, and now he was meeting Mark's gaze, his green eyes flashing with anger and rebellion. "I want to be with him, not you. He's all I want, and you know that, and you hate it."

Mark wasn't in the mood for a slow buildup tonight, but he tried to keep himself in check. Even so, he yanked on the leash harder than usual, making Kyle cry out and fall forward, propping himself up on his forearms.

"Watch your fucking mouth, Kyle. When are you going to learn that?" He wound the leash around his hand and pulled him up until Kyle was on his knees, straining against Mark's hold.

"I'll never learn it," Kyle seethed, trying to pull away without success. "I'll never let you break me down, Mark. You've already taken Stan from me, but I won't crack." A look of disgust washed over his face. "You called me a doll, for Christ's sake. Is that all I am to you?!"

"You are when you're acting like this," Mark replied, coldly. He pulled on the leash until Kyle was completely at attention, still balanced precariously on his knees. "A little fuck doll, and I can do whatever I want with you because you played yourself right into my hands." He reached out and took hold of Kyle's chin, ruthlessly pulling his face upward. "Isn't that right?"

Kyle flattened his mouth into a straight line, refusing to speak. Loathing burned in his eyes, and Mark was dismayed to see that there wasn't any fear now; not like before. No, now there was just plain defiance. His back throbbed again and the rage was almost coming to its zenith, beyond the place where he could control himself. Mark squeezed Kyle's chin until he couldn't help but squeak in pain.

"I asked you a fucking question," he hissed. "Didn't you basically make it so this whole situation was possible? Isn't it true that I fucking own you? Answer me!"

Kyle managed to rip himself away from Mark's grasp, and before Mark could react Kyle was rearing back and with as much force as he could muster he was spitting in Mark's face; his eyes blazing with unbridled fury. His saliva splashed across Mark's cheek and splattered in his hair, and it was at this moment that he couldn't remember ever being angrier. Almost feeling like he was exiting his own body, his own mind, Mark reached up and wiped the mess from himself. For a moment, he stared at his hand, at the filth glistening on his fingers, and without a second thought, he backhanded Kyle across the face with enough force to send him rocking to the side. He would've toppled over if Mark hadn't still been holding his leash taut.

Kyle groaned and pressed his hand to his face, and Mark could see the streak of blood flowing from the corner of his mouth. Leaning over, he licked the crimson away, reveling in its metallic, sweet flavor, and then he kissed Kyle's lips softly. Kyle tried pulling away but Mark held him; he wasn't going anywhere for quite awhile.

"So, you want to dance, huh?" He asked, and he kissed away more blood running from Kyle's lip; savoring it. "Well, let's fucking dance then."

*****

Mark wasn't new to the things that made Kyle afraid, and as he handcuffed him to the headboard, face down, and with each arm stretched out as far as it could go, he knew that Kyle was already on his way to being steeped in fear. He knew that Kyle hated this position, because he was completely exposed and vulnerable, but it was perfect for what Mark had in mind. If anything, he was going to build on Kyle's first punishment, and then he would see that that had been mere child's play in comparison to what was about to happen.

He laughed to see Kyle straining against his restraints, and a feeling of acute tenderness, almost whimsy, passed over Mark when he saw the red streak being left behind on the pillow from Kyle's still bleeding mouth. Mark wanted to tell him that even though he was angry beyond belief, even though Kyle had managed to get to him, he still loved him so much, and the feeling filled him up to an almost unbearable extent. As much as he wanted to bring Kyle in line he wanted to cherish him too, but he couldn't take care of him if Kyle didn't want to abide by the rules.

Vaguely, and without warning, an image of Mark's old 'Master' welled up inside of his head, and he almost shuddered. He hadn't been under his thumb for very long, thank God, but he had been subjected to his whims for long enough. Mark didn't allow himself to think of him very often because he was still afraid of him, though he'd never admit that to anyone else, but he had to admit that those long ago lessons were going to come in handy when it came to breaking Kyle. Mark waved the memories away but his brain held onto his master's tricks of the trade, and all of a sudden he was filled with new inspiration. He wouldn't hurt Kyle nearly as much as he'd been hurt, but he would come very close.

When his hand snaked out and dropped on Kyle's back, he could feel him shaking already, even before anything had even happened. This filled him with desire, but he fought it back; everything in due time. Mark's mouth salivated as he slid his fingers down Kyle's warm skin where they came to rest on his backside, and without warning he pinched the skin roughly, making Kyle gasp and arch his back. Mark smirked, leaning on the bed, and as his hands gripped Kyle's ass, he kissed along its curves, making sure to be as tender as possible before he sank his teeth into the soft flesh, biting down until Kyle was screaming and he could taste more of his blood; the flavor like wine on his tongue.

Mark pulled back, licking his lips and flicking his tongue over his teeth, picking up wayward drops of blood. Kyle sagged against his restraints but Mark was disappointed to hear that he wasn't crying yet. Still gripping Kyle's flesh, Mark bent forward again, kissed the white skin, and then his teeth were sinking into Kyle's skin again, just as ruthlessly as before. He repeated this treatment 4 more times until Kyle was gasping, his voice hoarse from screaming, and there were 3 beautiful bite marks on each ass cheek; red and leaking blood. Mark was still dismayed that Kyle wasn't crying yet, but there was time; there was so much time left. He dropped a kiss on Kyle's lower back and stood, his hands going to his belt.

Sluggishly, Kyle turned his head to watch Mark, and the splash of ruby on his face set off his pale skin perfectly. Tired rage burned in his eyes still, and it would seem that Kyle was hell-bent on proving that he could fight.

 _Well, let him fight,_ Mark thought, smirking. The heavenly flavor of Kyle's blood rested in his mouth as he pulled off his belt, the leather hissing through the loops on his jeans. He held it up for Kyle to see.

"Remember this? This is the same belt I wrapped around your neck so long ago." He folded it in half, almost sighing at the sweet memory. "Too bad I have to punish you with it this time around, but such is life, right?" He snapped the belt across his palm, the sound cracking through the room and making Kyle visibly wince.

"Now, I'm going to spank you, Kyle," he said, slowly. "And I'm going to spank you right across where I bit you, just to add to the fun." He knelt on the bed, readying himself. "Here's the thing, though," he said, and he squeezed Kyle's thigh. "I'm going to spank you until you willingly say you're mine. Do you understand?"

Mark could feel the tremor coursing through Kyle's body at this bit of information, but the rigid set of Kyle's shoulders told him that he still wasn't willing to play the game, at least not to Mark's satisfaction. Shrugging, he lifted his arm, the belt dangling from his hand, and after a moment, he brought it down, the leather hissing as it streaked through the air. With a loud smack, it connected with Kyle's buttocks, right across the bites, and Kyle's body arched more violently than he'd ever seen it. When he righted himself, Kyle was really pulling against his restraints now, though he had to know it wouldn't make any difference.

Mark continued to spank Kyle in this fashion until Kyle's body was trembling from the pain and a thin covering of sweat coated his skin. Kyle would gasp and fight with each strike, but he refused to cry and more importantly, he refused to admit that he was Mark's, so he just continued to spank him, his arm beginning to ache after awhile. The bite marks continued to ooze blood with every blow, and pretty soon the trails of carmine were falling down the backs of Kyle's thighs, but still he wouldn't concede.

After awhile, Kyle's reactions became tired and small until the pain barely seemed to register, and he lapsed into a quiet stillness, the loud smacks of the belt the only sound in the room. Mark was just on the cusp of giving up when a small sniffle escaped Kyle, and he knew that there was finally a crack appearing in the redhead's armor, and this knowledge thrilled him to the core. Really, he didn't want to hurt Kyle just for the sake of it, but at this point he knew that he needed to basically break him down to his foundation so he could rebuild him in the way that best suited his tastes. It was for Kyle's own good, honestly. Once he'd suffered through his rebirth the benefits would far outweigh the drawbacks; Mark would worship him forever, his love enveloping him in warmth and security.

Mark stopped at the sound, and he leaned over to look at Kyle's face, and saw tears falling from his eyes, which were blank and dazed, the pink lips parted and quivering. Instinctively, he knew that Kyle had reached his end for one evening, so reluctantly Mark decided to stop for now; Kyle would eventually admit that he belonged to him, he would just need to be patient. Now Kyle needed attending to, but in a different, more tender way; though his punishment was far from over. Mark threw the belt aside and opened his jeans, pulling out his stiff cock that had been full to bursting throughout the entirety of Kyle's spanking. Spitting on his hand, he coated himself and then soaked his fingertips again, and this time he used this moisture to prepare Kyle, who groaned at the sudden intrusion.

Making sure to be tender now, Mark thrust into Kyle, and once again he was overwhelmed at his tightness, his unbearable, aching heat, and he could barely contain his joy. It was like Kyle was created just to pleasure him this way, like the universe hadn't truly locked into place until Mark had discovered the fire smoldering away inside such a well-kept secret paradise. Kyle didn't resist his thrusts but he also didn't make any sounds to indicate he felt pleasure, but Mark figured he was just tired; completely spent from his ordeal, which made perfect sense. Mark had really put him through his paces but he had to learn, he had to know; Jesus, he needed to fucking accept the lay of the land and his place in it.

Mark pumped into Kyle's heat, relishing every moment, for a leisurely amount of time, not wanting to rush his climax. He even admired the way his bite marks continued to bleed, the red being pressed into Mark's skin and settling there. In a way, he almost felt jealous, really. His master had never treated him so tenderly after the worst of the punishment was over, but Mark didn't want Kyle to think that he didn't care for him; especially when his love burned with such fervor he almost thought it would decimate everything else inside of him. No, his master had been cruel and hadn't cared about Mark's pleasure, and for a moment his cold black eyes and dark hair stood out vividly in his head until he willed the image away.

"Please..." Kyle's voice broke into his thoughts then, and it sounded so tired and frail that Mark almost felt guilty. "Please, no more..."

It was this soft, brittle voice that pushed Mark over the edge and he was pouring into Kyle, some of his come leaking out of him and mixing with the blood falling down the backs of his trembling thighs. Mark came back to himself after a moment, the ecstasy still washing through him in violent waves, and he had the presence of mind to drop a kiss on the back of Kyle's neck; the skin quickening at the touch. Pulling out, he rested his hand on Kyle's back, and he waited for the trembling to recede before he lovingly explained the rest of Kyle's punishment to him.

"I'm going to leave you here to think about what just happened, Kyle," he said, stroking the creamy skin he adored so much. "But there's going to be a catch." Standing, he went to his dresser and pulled out the blindfold. Bringing it over, he showed it to Kyle who recoiled.

"No, not the blindfold," he said, his voice raspy from screaming. "I don't want to be in the dark, please!"

"I'm afraid it can't be helped, baby," Mark replied, wrapping the blindfold around Kyle's eyes and tying it tight. Kyle weakly tried to protest, but at this point he was clearly so exhausted that it didn't help him at all. "Being in the dark will help you focus on why you were being punished, and why you still refuse to admit you're mine; that you belong to me, and you always will. You need to obey, Kyle. It's for your own good."

Kyle whimpered and cried, his head resting tiredly on the pillow as he succumbed to the darkness obscuring his vision. Mark passed his fingers through Kyle's hair, through the red curls he couldn't help but admire.

"I'll also be leaving you in here by yourself for the remainder of the night," he continued, winding a soft, tendril of hair around his finger. He fought the urge to yank on it, because, really, Kyle had had enough pain for one day. "I'll come back to check on you in the morning, as soon as the sun has risen."

Kyle jerked up, fighting through the fatigue.

"No! You can't leave me by myself! Not like this! Please!" He fought against the handcuffs until Mark could see that his wrists were becoming raw. He rested a hand on the back of Kyle's neck to steady him.

"Relax, you'll be fine. Just rest, and I'll be back before you know it." He kissed Kyle's tear-streaked face and reveled in the scent of him, and now he could smell the fear emanating from his pores, and it was like the sweetest perfume he could ever imagine.

*****

Kyle couldn't help but marvel at how tired, how relaxed he became after feeling intense bouts of pain. After Mark had left him alone and he had nothing to focus on except the darkness, his own thoughts, and the agony coursing through his body, he was amazed at the fatigue shrouding his brain. The bite marks were still sharp and hot, throbbing on his backside, and he could feel the stickiness of his blood and Mark's come drying on his thighs. In his mouth he could taste coppery blood and he swallowed it down, trying to ease the ache in his throat from screaming so.

Shifting a little on the bed, Kyle could feel the warm throbbing of where Mark's fingers had pressed into his skin, and where the belt had bit into his skin, burning like fire and leaving him breathless. He could've sobbed when he envisioned the bruises and welts that would be there when he woke up in the morning; hellish red and purple, angry colors that spoke of abuse and savagery. He still couldn't believe that he had the balls to actually spit in Mark's smarmy, smug face, but he was still glad that he did it. Even though Kyle had paid dearly for his action, he'd do it again, and again. He would never allow himself to crack. Mark had already taken so much from him, but Kyle would never let him take his ability to fight; his fire to survive.

Memories of the last time he'd been left in the darkness floated to Kyle then, and with them came the kaleidoscope of images that rose up in his brain; fire, ice, pain, blood, and Stan's handsome face beckoning to him to come and be sheltered in his arms. Rapid fire images swarmed Kyle's brain, and Stan disappeared in the wake of Mark's angry face and the way he seemed to enjoy yanking on Kyle's leash and making him cry out. Against his will, Kyle could recall Mark's hands on him, holding him down, or gripping his neck; his teeth flashing before they bit down on his throat. He could feel Mark inside of him and his come leaking out of him after he was done defiling Kyle's body, even as pleasure burned through him at the same time.

After awhile, Kyle found himself being lulled in the darkness and his head sunk into the pillow deeply. More than anything, he just wanted to sleep, and he closed his eyes behind the blindfold and willed himself to be still, to think only happy thoughts. Desperately, he grasped at the last time he'd been with Stan, and now instead of seeing Mark's hands he could feel Stan's, and he was being pulled against his chest where he could hear his heart thudding; his soft lips pressing against Kyle's temple and speaking only kind, gentle words. Stan's warmth managed to push back Mark's unbearable darkness, and even though Kyle was locked in blackness, golden sunlight filled up his senses and for a moment he could forget where he was; becoming truly lost in happier times.

*****

Kyle was still in a deep sleep, devoid of dreams, when Mark came to him the next morning. He gently removed Kyle's blindfold and he could see that Mark kept his promise to come to him right when the sun was rising. Through the gossamer curtains he could see daybreak flooding the sky with its light, and morning birds were trilling in the trees outside the window. A faint chill clung to Kyle's skin, and for a moment he couldn't remember what had happened the night before, until the pain flooded in and filled up his body; reminding him. Moaning, he winced when Mark jostled him while removing the handcuffs from around his wrists.

"Poor, sweet baby," Mark said, softly, and in a moment he was gathering Kyle into his arms. Kyle was so surprised that he forgot to fight, and he was pressed against Mark's chest, his sleepy scent washing over him, almost making the pain recede.

Mark left a trail of tender kisses along Kyle's forehead and down his cheek, hugging him close like he was made of spun glass and so breakable. His entire attitude was completely different compared to the night before, and Kyle could barely wrap his mind around the change. It was like two different people lived inside of Mark, one monstrous and evil, the other capable of such loving mercy, and Kyle never knew who he was going to get.

"Come on, I already ran a bath for you," Mark murmured, and he lifted Kyle from the bed and carried him to the bathroom. "I'm surprised the water running didn't wake you up; you must've been sleeping really deeply."

With meticulous care, he lay him in the bath, Kyle hissing as the water passed over his bruises and wounds, but relishing its comforts. Mark had made the bath the perfect temperature, and Kyle lay back into its warmth, enjoying the feeling of blood and sweat and come being washed away. Bubbles rose up around him in white mounds, and he covertly tried to push them over his front, hiding his nakedness from Mark, who was watching him closely.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, picking up a washcloth and dunking it in the water.

Kyle had to fight the urge to snap back at him, but in his current frame of mind and still nursing his wounds, he didn't think he had the strength to start the day with another battle. Instead, he shrugged and looked down at the bubbles dissolving in his hands.

"I don't know," he replied, because really, he didn't know how to feel. Honestly, he was feeling too many things at once to even begin to explain his state of being. Mark had made it a point to punish him, to brutalize him, and now he was dealing with the aftermath. Additionally, he was suffering from being away from Stan and not by choice, so his emotions were a jungle at this point; he just wasn't sure how to navigate them. The only thing Kyle was sure of was that he was tired, very tired.

Mark leaned on the edge of the tub, the drenched washcloth in his hand, and cocked an eyebrow expectantly. Wordlessly and without protest, Kyle immediately leaned forward so Mark could wash his back, the warm water passing over his skin and making him sigh. A note of terror drifted into his brain at how quickly he'd complied, even though Mark hadn't even spoken, but the thought was so disturbing that Kyle didn't want to dwell on it. For now, he just wanted to sink into the warmth and allow his body to be healed; comforted.

"I hope you realize how much I love you, Kyle," Mark said suddenly, passing the washcloth over the back of Kyle's neck, droplets of water cascading down over his chest. "I know I have a strange way of showing it, of expressing myself, but I love you so much."

The sound of this confession made Kyle's stomach clench up painfully and his heart rate sped up to a dizzying pace. He was convinced that Mark didn't have even the vaguest understanding of love, and hearing him talk this way was very disorienting. Mark flipped through emotions and moods so quickly that Kyle couldn't even hope to keep up, and trying to understand him and his motivations was even more of a challenge. Overwhelmed, he remained silent, because what could he say? He couldn't love Mark, not like this, and accepting Mark's love didn't even seem possible, all things considered.

"What's your favorite movie?" Mark asked, smiling warmly at him.

Kyle could only stare at him, his mouth slightly open and his eyes wide.

"W-what?" Did he hear him correctly?

Mark shrugged.

"Remember when you were taking a bath that one time and we talked about our favorite stuff? I actually thought that was really fun, so I thought I'd ask you a question first this time."

"Well, uh," Kyle said, but he just couldn't formulate a response. This whole situation was just too surreal for words. How the fuck did he even end up here, his body torn into pieces while a psychopath bathed him and asked him 'getting to know you' questions? Shaking his head, and swallowing a little to take the dryness from his throat, he finally came up with an answer.

"Silence of the Lambs, I guess."

Mark raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised.

"Really? I wouldn't have expected that."

"Why?" Kyle asked, suspiciously. Who was he to question anything he liked?

"I just thought you'd like an art house film or something. It just seems in line with your personality." Mark grinned. "But Silence of the Lambs is cool; it's one of my favorites, too."

"Big surprise," Kyle replied, rolling his eyes. After a moment of silence he spoke up, still feeling reluctant to engage in small talk with Mark but also feeling curious. "What's your favorite movie?"

Mark thought a moment as he idly continued to wash Kyle. By this point he'd instructed Kyle to stand up so he could wash the backs of his legs and the bite marks burning on his backside, his fingers lingering on Kyle's sensitive skin.

"I guess my favorite is Ordinary People," he said, running a hand up Kyle's inner thigh and making him shiver. "With Mary Tyler Moore?"

"I've never seen it," Kyle said, while Mark draped a towel around him, drying him off.

"It's frustrating, but realistic," Mark said. "It's about this family that's torn apart after one of them dies, and the mom just can't fucking deal with it, so she bails. She basically abandons the son she has left because she lost the son she loved the most. It's pretty intense." Taking Kyle's hand he helped him out of the tub and led him back to the bedroom, directing him to lay down on the bed again. "Lay on your front, okay? I'll be right back."

Once again, Kyle found himself obeying without making waves but he still didn't want to dwell on the implications. His body felt relaxed and warm though he still ached terribly, and he sunk into the comforter with a sigh, still feeling completely exhausted. Mark came back in a moment and Kyle started, but he placed a hand on Kyle's thigh and soothed him.

"Relax, I'm not going to do anything to hurt you, okay? That part is over; now I just want to take care of you."

Kyle turned his face away and clenched his hands on the pillow resting under his head, unwilling to believe that Mark didn't have something awful planned, even though he was being so kind. After a moment, Kyle felt something cold being applied to the wounds on his buttocks, and then a slight sting burned through his skin, making him suck in his breath. He glanced back and saw that Mark had a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, and was gently dabbing it on Kyle's bite wounds with a cotton ball.

"I hope that doesn't sting too bad," Mark murmured, tipping the bottle again and saturating another cotton ball. "I just didn't want these to get infected, you know? I mean, I have excellent oral hygiene but still, the human mouth is fucking filthy."

"I can't believe you're actually doing this," Kyle said, watching him apply more peroxide on the bite marks. In the morning sunlight Kyle could see that his skin was absolutely wrecked, covered over with welts, bites, and quickly developing bruises. Kyle held his wrists up in front of his face and saw that they'd been rubbed raw from the handcuffs, and he knew that before too long a circlet of bruises would be seeping through the thin skin; turning it violet. A deep pulsing pain coursed through his body that left him feeling completely drained.

"Doing what?"

"Taking care of me, giving me a bath, asking me what my favorite movie is, for God's sake," Kyle snapped, not bothering to take the bite out of his tone. "After what you did last night I think you can understand why I'd be pretty baffled, right?"

Mark shrugged, and put the cap back on the bottle of peroxide. He set it aside and then picked up another bottle, and Kyle could see that it contained Ibuprofen. Mark shook a few into his hand and held them out to Kyle, who slowly accepted them. After a moment Mark handed him a bottle of water, and a cold fear broke over Kyle immediately.

"You drink out of it first," he said, eyeing the bottle with aversion.

Mark seemed taken aback at first, but then his face settled into an expression of understanding. Sighing, he opened the bottle and drank, wiping his mouth as he looked at Kyle.

"There, satisfied? Why the fuck would I try to slip you something right now, Kyle? I just want you to feel better."

"Why would you ever try to slip me something, Mark? Huh? Can you really blame me for being suspicious?"

"Christ, just take the Ibuprofen already; I know you have to be feeling pretty uncomfortable," Mark said, crossing his arms and watching Kyle as he tipped the pills into his mouth and then hesitantly took a tiny sip of water.

"Yeah, I wonder why," Kyle replied, turning over and pulling the blankets over himself. It wasn't fair that he always seemed to be naked around Mark while he always remained fully clothed.

"Kyle, I don't want to fight today, okay? So, please stop trying to get a rise out of me."

"Fine, if you don't want to fight then what do you want?" Kyle asked, drawing the covers up to his chin. He was already starting to feel a little better, what with the bath and the peroxide killing the bacteria lingering in his battle wounds.

Mark just looked at him for a moment, his face almost sad and full of longing.

"Can I hold you for awhile?" He finally asked, his voice soft; disarming Kyle completely.

"I, uh," Kyle replied, flustered. "I mean, I guess you can. I'm pretty sure I don't have a choice anyway."

Mark rose from the floor and slid into the bed, taking Kyle into his arms and laying his head against his chest; right over his steadily beating heart. He was so gentle that Kyle was momentarily lulled but he still stayed on guard; always on edge and waiting. Mark stroked Kyle's moist hair and sighed, and now he seemed so content that he sounded like a different person entirely.

"You know, I really don't like punishing you, Kyle," he said. "I know you don't believe me, but it's the truth."

"Then why do you do it?" Kyle whispered, and now Mark's scent was making him drift away; his head feeling hazy and heavy. He was still so tired and his body ached so much, and the soft throb of Mark's heartbeat was almost hypnotizing him because it was so steady.

"I feel like it's the only way I can keep you. Like, if I can control and punish you enough, you won't be able to leave." Mark kissed Kyle's forehead softly. "And that's all I want Kyle; to keep you with me always, no matter what it takes."


	36. Part II; Mark/Kyle's POV - Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Sexual assault/violence, etc. READER DISCRETION ADVISED.
> 
> The story continues to be bizarre, blah blah blah. I'm enjoying the journey still, though I can see how this story isn't for everyone. If you don't like it, I can only suggest you keep on scrolling, okay?
> 
> I'm starting to think the best and worst part of any fandom is the fans...it's great when you come across people who just want to enjoy the show together and swap opinions/ideas, but then you come across people who act like their opinion and interpretation of the material is the end all be all of viewpoints, and that's when we have to part company. Some people just seriously take the fun out of enjoying a franchise, you know? I hope I'm not the only person who feels that way.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy, and if you don't, that's fine; I can take constructive criticism; otherwise, just keep on a-moving. :)

"Mm, I hope that doesn't hurt too much," Mark said, softly, right next to Kyle's ear.

Kyle gritted his teeth and shook his head, not wanting to make a big deal out of the pain rippling through his body as Mark slowly thrust into him; the ache that radiated through his backside and down the backs of his legs. He was pretty sure that wouldn't deter Mark from fucking him, and he was really too tired to talk very much. Instead, he turned his face away and watched the breeze fluttering the curtains, making them look like delicate moth wings blowing back from the open balcony door. Kyle wished he were anywhere but where he was, but he didn't even have the strength to imagine an alternative, so he just drifted.

After Mark woke him at sunrise to bathe and sooth his wounds, Kyle had fallen asleep in his arms until the early afternoon, when he'd awakened to kisses being laid on his forehead. He'd opened his eyes to see Mark gazing down at him, having managed to shift out from under Kyle while he'd slept, and before too long he was feverishly kissing his lips; slipping his tongue into Kyle's mouth. He'd resisted momentarily, but Mark had squeezed his wrists gently, just enough to show that he shouldn't put up a fight, and Kyle had become still; waiting for the inevitable.

Before too long, Mark had prepared him and then slipped inside, moaning as he sank into Kyle's aching body, his lips resting on his throat and brushing the bite mark still throbbing there. Mark was exceedingly tender, which Kyle was grateful for, but he still had to fight back the tears brimming right behind his eyes; the sting building up inside his head, threatening to spill over. With every stroke Mark's hands tightened around Kyle's wrists, but Kyle continued to look out the window, a lone bird soaring by and seeming so free that it tore at his heart.

_I wonder what Stan is doing right now?_

Kyle desperately hoped that Stan was happy in that moment, though he doubted it. After the way Mark had flaunted his ownership of him, Kyle knew Stan had to be absolutely miserable, but at least he still had his freedom. Kyle was bound to Mark's side for the foreseeable future, and now he just had to find a way to survive his ordeal. Dimly, he became aware that Mark's thrusts were starting to pick up speed, and suddenly he was holding Kyle's chin, forcing him to look into his eyes; his own full of a dark need that made his mouth go dry.

"Didn't I tell you that I like looking in your eyes when I come inside of you, Kyle?" Mark asked, and he kissed his lips lightly. "Besides, there's nothing you need to concern yourself with outside; everything you need is right here."

Kyle could only whimper and keep his eyes locked on Mark's, waves of hot pain coursing through his entire body as his bite wounds and bruises came into contact with the mattress as Mark pulsed inside of him. He tried to clench up so Mark would come faster, ignoring the agony it produced in his flesh, and against his will a few lone tears slid from his eyes. Mark kissed them away and drew back, a slow smile spreading across his face as he sped up, and after a moment he was tensing up as he came. The warm wetness flowed into Kyle as Mark continued to hold his chin, commanding all of his attention; more tears falling from his eyes as Mark finally became still, spent and satisfied.

"God, I've missed fucking you so much," Mark said, laying his head against Kyle's hair. "You can only imagine how frustrating it was having to watch you for all those months without being able to touch you."

"Hmm," Kyle replied, wishing he could disappear.

Mark pulled back, grinning down at him.

"Admit it, Kyle; I know my way around your body." He kissed Kyle's temple, pulling out of him slowly. "You know, I'm in such a good mood that I feel like going out tonight. What do you think?"

"You want to go out?" Kyle asked, incredulously. "Like, to eat?"

Mark rolled his eyes and pushed some hair off of his face.

"Yeah, to eat, or whatever," he replied, shrugging. "Honestly, whatever you'd like to do. We haven't really gone on many dates, you know? I want to take you somewhere."

Kyle frowned, once again taken aback by Mark's weird inability to see the reality of their situation.

"You want to take me out on a date? Like normal people?" He looked away, not caring that his temper was making an appearance. "You didn't want to stay in and punish me again?"

"I can go either way," Mark parried, his tone wry. "I'll let you make the final decision, though."

Mark pushed himself off of Kyle and stood, stretching his arms high above his head. He glanced down at Kyle, his eyebrow raised.

"So, what do you want to do? Do you want to go out like "'normal people,'" he said, making air quotations next to his head, "or do you want to stay here and suffer through another punishment?"

Kyle bit his lip and pulled the covers under his chin, hardly believing that he had to make a choice between the two options. He could barely comprehend his own reality at this point. Mark snapped his fingers at him suddenly, jarring him out of his thoughts.

"Well?" He asked, watching Kyle closely. "If you make me wait much longer I'll just decide for you, and I really don't think you want that."

"Fine, whatever," Kyle exclaimed, thoroughly annoyed now. "If those are my only two options then take me on a fucking date, Jesus Christ!"

Mark looked up at the ceiling, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, clearly trying to maintain control. After a moment, he exhaled and closed his eyes, rubbing his temples.

"You are so fucking trying I can barely stand it," he said, his voice low. His eyes popped open and he gazed at Kyle for a moment, then he smiled. "But I'll let it slide for now; besides, you're cute when you think you're being intimidating." He turned on his heel and headed for the bathroom. "I'm gonna take a shower while you get dressed, okay? I want to leave soon so move your ass."

Kyle watched him disappear into the bathroom and then heard the water start up, surprised that Mark didn't demand he take a shower with him.

Thank god, he thought. Now I can actually have a fucking second to myself.

He eased himself up from the bed, trying to move carefully so he wouldn't aggravate his injuries. Standing up, he stretched out a little, faint twinges of pain moving through his body. Wincing, he felt Mark's come sliding down the back of his legs, and he started toward the bathroom, eager to clean himself up, when his eyes landed on something sitting on the dresser. For a moment he could barely believe it, but it was true; Mark had left Kyle's phone out in plain sight.

Kyle quickly glanced at the bathroom doorway and started inching forward, barely believing his good fortune. As covertly as possible he peered into the bathroom and saw that Mark was already in the shower, completely occupied while washing his hair. Swiftly, Kyle turned and snatched his phone up, pulled on his discarded boxers, and then stepped out on the balcony; his finger already in the process of unlocking the phone. In a moment he'd opened up his texts and saw that Stan had sent him several, all of them asking if he was okay and begging Kyle to contact him as soon as possible.

With trembling fingers Kyle typed out a message, trying to explain to Stan that he didn't want to break up and that Mark had him over a barrel, but before he could send it a cold feeling rushed through him, and he knew that he wasn't alone on the balcony anymore. Looking up, he saw Mark standing in the doorway, a towel wrapped around his hips, and he was smirking; his eyes cold and remote.

"Having fun?" He asked, pushing his glasses up onto his nose; his face flushed from the shower.

Kyle could feel the blood draining from his face, and he backed away until he was pressed up against the balcony wall. Knowing he was trapped, he hid his phone behind his back, and for a crazy moment he considered throwing it over the wall so Mark couldn't get his hands on it; but he didn't have the nerve. Casually, Mark strolled over and stopped an arms' length away from Kyle, his stance and demeanor lacking his usual aggression, given the circumstances.

"I just wanted to..." Kyle trailed off, not sure what to say. What could he say, really? Defiance rose up in him, razor sharp and blinding. "I wanted to text Stan so I could explain the situation," he seethed. "It's only fair, Mark. He deserves to know what's going on."

Mark brushed a wayward water droplet from his cheek, still smirking and still seemingly casual.

"He doesn't deserve shit," he replied, simply. "And I'm pretty sure I already told you that I don't want you talking to him unless I've given you permission. What, was I not clear enough for you about that?"

Kyle gritted his teeth, his whole body shaking with rage. He could hardly comprehend Mark's gall; who the fuck did he think he was, trying to control him this way? Hadn't he done enough?

"I'll talk to whoever I want," Kyle seethed, his jaw clenched. "Regardless of what you think, Mark, I can do whatever the fuck I want, and I sure as hell don't need your permission!"

"Oh, is that so?" Mark asked, and all at once the smirk was gone from his face. Suddenly, his hand shot out and he was grabbing Kyle's arm, his fingers digging into the skin and making him cry out. He yanked Kyle's arm from behind his back and he easily took the phone, holding it in his clenched fist. Kyle could see that he was shaking slightly, most likely from fury.

"I have half a mind to just fucking crush this thing, Kyle," he said, his voice loaded with malice. "And you know what? I'm pretty sure I can find something better for your mouth to do if you're going to insist on giving me attitude constantly." He stilled, the smile appearing again. "Yes, I think I have the perfect idea."

Ruthlessly, he yanked Kyle back into the bedroom and threw him on the floor, slamming the phone down on his desk so hard that Kyle was afraid it was going to be destroyed.

"On your knees," Mark said, his tone soft, but still furious. "Now."

"N-no," Kyle responded, his voice already shaking. "I won't d-do it. Not again."

Mark stalked over and took a handful of Kyle's hair, pulling his head back; making him shriek.

"On your fucking knees, Kyle. Don't make me tell you again." He tugged at his hair again. "Unless you need me to get the collar and leash, or do you want to do as you're told?"

Quickly, Kyle scrambled into position on his knees, his back straight and his thighs slightly parted the way Mark liked him. He bowed his head, his head throbbing from having his hair pulled.

"Good, now," Mark said, coming around to stand in front of him. "I've told you time and time again that you need to watch your goddamn mouth, but clearly you haven't gotten the message. Is that right?"

Kyle stayed silent, afraid to say anything. In a moment, Mark reached down and grabbed his chin, forcing his head up so they were eye to eye.

"I asked you a question, Kyle," he said. "And I expect an answer. Now, would you say you've learned to curb your smart ass attitude? Yes or no?"

Kyle shook his head, tears already pooling in his eyes.

"I can't hear you, Kyle. Use your words."

"N-n-no, I haven't l-learned to watch m-my mouth," he said, terrified at the dead look in Mark's eyes. How could he be so caring one moment and so remote the next? What kind of monster was he?

"Well, at least you're self aware," Mark said, unwrapping the towel from around his hips and letting it drop to the floor. "So, let's see here; how can we rectify the situation, hmm?" Reaching down, he took his already stiffening cock into his hand and pumped it until it was fully erect. "Clearly, we need to find something else for your mouth to do so you don't have the opportunity to backtalk, right?"

Kyle shook his head frantically, scooting back but still managing to stay on his knees; terror rising up in him like murky water in a castle moat.

"Oh, now you want to stay quiet? That just won't do, Kyle," Mark purred, walking forward and taking hold of Kyle's hair again; but this time his grip was gentle. "Open, baby," he instructed.

"Please, no," Kyle moaned, still shaking his head. "I promise I'll -"

Mark cut him off by shoving his cock in Kyle's mouth, making him gag and rear back. Now his grip tightened on Kyle's hair, keeping him steady as he cooed encouragement to him; the words getting lost between the moist sounds of him fucking Kyle's face. With every thrust Kyle's anger rose in violent waves, and the hatred he felt for Mark in that moment was almost enough to consume him entirely. He fought the urge to just sink his teeth into Mark's cock, but he knew if he did he'd probably end up being murdered, so he resisted; but he could imagine doing it, could envision himself biting him and having the blood pour into his mouth.

Now both of Mark's hands were twined in Kyle's hair, and he alternated between fucking Kyle's mouth fast and then slow, urging him on with words of praise but also reminding him why this needed to happen.

"You just won't learn," he gasped, plunging into Kyle's mouth again; over and over. "You just won't fucking learn so I have to teach you, don't I?"

Tears started leaking down Kyle's face now; tears of fury and pain and fear. Steeling himself, he kept himself upright even as Mark brutalized him, the fire still burning inside of him that he refused to let go out. Even though Mark had the upper hand now, he'd find a way to save himself, and he refused to lose his humanity, his backbone, in the process. Maybe he had the power to abuse Kyle's body, but that didn't mean he'd let him break his spirit; at least that's what he prayed for as Mark continued to thrust in between his lips.

I'll find a way, Kyle thought, closing his eyes against the pain. I'll find a way to free myself, you dirty son of a bitch. I promise.

*****

Mark was convinced that Kyle was prettiest when illuminated by candlelight, the fire blazing in his hair and glowing in his eyes, turning them into pieces of jade. Idly, he ran a finger around the edge of his water glass, just sitting back and enjoying the view; Kyle glancing away and picking at the food on his plate.

"What are you thinking about?" Mark asked, feeling overwhelming tenderness rising in his heart.

Angry eyes settled on him, and he had to fight back the urge to smile. God, he was cute.

"What do you mean what am I thinking about?" Kyle snapped, his hand wrapped around his fork like he wanted to strangle it. "Do you honestly want to know or are you just looking for another opportunity to terrorize me?"

Mark sighed and clasped his hands together, settling his chin on them as he leaned forward. Breaking Kyle was certainly going to take all of his resolve, but he was willing to see it through.

"I just wanted to know because I'm interested," he said. "Is that a crime?"

"Everything you're doing is a goddamn crime," Kyle said, his eyes blazing, and not just from the candlelight settling in them. "You're basically holding me hostage, Mark. Don't you see a problem with that?"

"And you helped cover up Becky's attempt to murder me, Kyle," Mark replied, smoothly. "Or did you just forget about that?"

Kyle slammed his fork down on the table, making the plates and glasses shiver.

"She attacked you because you were fucking trying to rape me!" He said, his voice a furious whisper. Glancing around, he leaned forward. "What did I do to deserve any of this, huh? Why can't you just let me go? What are you gaining from any of this?"

Now wasn't that the fucking million dollar question? Mark had wracked his brain tons of times trying to come up with an answer that could even begin to explain his motivations, and the only thing he could keep coming back to was so simple that it infuriated him.

"I love you, Kyle," he said, and he hated how helpless he sounded; so lost and confused, really. "I don't know how else to explain it, I just love you. When I'm with you I feel happy and like I'm, god, I don't know? Home? I feel warm with you, just being near you."

Kyle just stared at him, his eyes angry and, what else? Confused? Mark could hardly blame him.

"Mark," he said, and then he became silent, clearly trying to put his thoughts in order. "Mark, I don't understand; I just don't. This isn't love, and I've already told you that, so I doubt you'll listen this time. But, you wanting to control me and use force to, I don't know, break my will, Christ; none of that is love. Why don't you get that? How can I make you understand?"

He looked down at his plate, his shoulders shaking.

"I just don't understand why you'd want to be with someone who's afraid of you; who clearly doesn't want anything to do with you." He glanced up. "And, you know, you only have yourself to blame for all of this. I was willing to give you a change at one point, but then you fucking lost your mind and everything went to hell, and now, now I'm just angry and terrified. How can you be okay with this situation? Doesn't it bother you that I'm here because I have no other choice?"

"You don't mean that," Mark replied, refusing to believe what Kyle was telling him. How could he feel that way, when they'd had so many nice times? "Look, I know I'm," he looked down at his hands, "intense, but Kyle, I fucking love you. We have more in common than you think, and I want to make you happy. Honestly, it's the only thing I care about, but every time I don't use force, every time I try to let you make your own decisions, you find a reason to hate me."

Reaching across the table, Mark took Kyle's hand and held it softly, rubbing his thumb across his knuckles.

"Can't you see that I'm trying to be someone you might like, at least a little? I want to take care of you and be there for you, but you make it so fucking hard!" Tiny pinpricks of tears burned at the corners of his eyes and suddenly Mark couldn't stand himself; couldn't stand that he was so goddamn weak that he'd actually allow himself to cry. And right in front of Kyle!

"Christ, isn't there anything I can do to make things okay again?" He asked, scraping his hand across his eyes, gritting his teeth.

Kyle seemed taken aback at his sudden emotional display, and he just looked at Mark for a moment, his eyes studying his face.

"What do you want me to say, Mark? You've brutalized me, hurt me, cut me off from my friends, taken Stan away, drugged me," he shrugged helplessly. "Mark, how can I forgive any of that? How far do you think forgiveness can go? I'm not a bottomless well; there's only so much I can give."

"So, the fact that I love you and adore you means nothing. Is that it? Huh?" Mark asked, sadness giving way to rage again. Kyle was on the cusp of flipping the switch, and he really didn't want him to. He wanted to be able to resolve all of this without having to turn to violence; there had to be another way, a gentler way.

"I mean, I don't think less of you for loving me. There's nothing wrong with loving another person," Kyle said, slowly; his tone as careful as his words. "But, Mark, I really don't think you even know what love is, not really."

Mark had to fight back the urge to hurl his water glass across the restaurant; the only thing indicating his growing anger was that his hand tightened very slightly on Kyle's. If there was anything Mark hated it was someone else making presumptions about his motivations or limitations; no one told him what he felt or what he was capable of. His father and his old master spent enough time doing that; those days were done and over forever.

"I don't really think that's fair, Kyle," he said, trying to keep his tone even. "So maybe I'm not like everyone else, that doesn't render my feelings and emotions worthless. I know I love you, and if I can't convince you of that through words, I'll just have to do it with my actions."

Kyle cleared his throat and looked away, his eyes settling on the candle flickering on the edge of the table.

"And what actions are those, Mark? Beating me? Raping me?" His eyes flashed back, catching Mark's and now they were unbearably sad. "Is that what I have to look forward to?"

Now the rage was sitting up and taking notice, the wolf at attention; the ire moving through his blood. Kyle was so fucking stubborn and infuriating, and as exciting as Mark found that, it made him so fucking livid that no matter what he did he couldn't control him. Why did control have to be such a fucking illusion? Such a goddamn pipe dream? He sighed, collecting himself.

"You know what you are, Kyle?" He asked, still stroking a finger over Kyle's knuckles, wanting to be tender and brutal at the same time.

Kyle didn't answer, instead he just cocked an eyebrow; waiting.

"You're a field that no longer yields what it's supposed to, and you know what the best remedy for that is?"

"I can hardly imagine," Kyle replied, his voice faint.

"Fire," Mark replied. "Sometimes fields need to be stripped to their bare bones so that they can regain their vitality; their health. All we have to do is burn away the things holding you back, and then you'll see the truth. Does that make sense?"

Kyle shook his head.

"Mark, none of this makes sense to me; you don't make sense to me. What exactly are you trying to tell me right now?"

"You'll see, soon enough," Mark replied, and all at once the anger faded back into its lair where it always seemed to be waiting, giving way so that the love took precedence; shining clear and white like the cleanest star in the sky.

*****

"Here," Mark said, handing something to Kyle as they sat outside on the balcony; Mark smoking a cigarette and Kyle gazing up at the stars.

"Huh?" Kyle asked, glancing down. When he saw what Mark was holding out his eyes widened in surprise: it was his phone. Reluctantly, he took it, his fingers trembling slightly, still looking at Mark, his expression questioning. "I don't understand."

Mark shrugged.

"Call Stan," he said, taking a drag on his cigarette. "Just stay out here when you talk to him, okay?" He rolled his eyes. "I'm sure you two have tons to talk about."

"You really mean it?" Kyle asked, and Mark absolutely loathed the look of delight that lit up his face and made his cheeks rosy. He couldn't stand how elated Kyle seemed at the prospect of talking to Stan, even though Mark was still firm in his stance that he belonged to him.

"Yeah, whatever," he muttered, flicking some ash away. "If it'll make you happy."

"He's going to want to talk shit about you, though," Kyle said, timidly. "Are you sure you want me to call him in front of you?"

"I think I can handle it, Kyle," Mark replied, starting to feel annoyed. He glanced at him sideways, eyes narrowed. "Well, are you going to fucking call him or not? I can just take the phone back if you're not in the mood."

"No! No, I'm going to call him, just give me a second to collect myself; I didn't expect this." Kyle took a deep breath and unlocked his phone, and Mark was even more irritated to see that he was practically giddy with anticipation. He rolled his eyes; what the fuck was Stan's appeal anyway? It's not like he was the sharpest tool in the shed; if anything, he seemed hopelessly flat and uninteresting. Kyle was far too unique to be stuck with the likes of him, but he'd come to see this in time.

Mark was starting to understand that he had to dial back his use of force if he was going to get anywhere with Kyle. No, subtle manipulation would have to be his ace in the hole. He'd have to reserve the ultra violence for special occasions; a soft touch was what was needed here, at least for now. Mark turned his face away so Kyle couldn't see him smirk, amused because he'd already noticed small changes in Kyle's personality that showed he was starting to break; little by little. He'd accepted his phone but he'd acted like Mark was bestowing a gift on him, and of course he was, but he'd asked for permission, reassurance, that he was allowed to use it. Things were falling into place even though Mark hated how slowly the process was going.

He turned back when he heard Kyle's voice, filled with happiness; he almost never sounded like that when he was addressing Mark, and this knowledge burned like acid in his stomach.

"Stan, hey!" Kyle said, his voice chirpy and upbeat. He listened for a moment and then he laughed, pressing the phone against his ear and looking up into the sky. "Yeah, I'm still at Mark's."

More silence, and then Kyle glanced at Mark and he snorted, covering his mouth with his hand and then looking guilty.

"Dude, I completely agree. So, what are you doing? I hope I didn't interrupt anything."

Mark flicked his cigarette away and shook another out of the pack, still watching and listening. As he lit up, he saw Kyle frown a little.

"I miss you, too," he said, softly. Kyle hung his head a little now. "I wanted to explain, but I think you can see why I couldn't at the time." Nervous eyes trailed to Mark's catching them for a moment, then quickly shifted away. "I-I don't know how to explain what happened, Stan, but I want you to know that I love you, and -"

Mark moved suddenly, and Kyle started, his eyes filled with fear now when he regarded him. Mark just winked at him and continued smoking, making no move to get up. After a moment, Kyle seemed to settle a little, but Mark noticed that his shoulders appeared more stiff than before, his voice a little more hushed and stilted.

"Things have just gotten so out of control," Kyle said now, and he ran a hand through his hair. "I'm scared and frustrated, but Mark, well, he..." he trailed off, looking over at Mark who just continued to smoke, smiling at him serenely. "He wants to take care of me," Kyle finished, lamely.

Silence descended as Kyle and Mark listened, Stan's agitated voice drifting through the night air, though Mark couldn't really discern what he was saying; even so, he had a pretty good idea either way. Stan was so simple, so easy, really. He wondered idly if that's why Kyle had a thing for him; maybe his simplicity made him easier to love? Mark waved the thought away, feeling annoyed by it. Simplicity just bred ignorance as far as he was concerned; it just made a person easier to manipulate. That's probably why Kyle was so fucking hard to get to; he was far too complicated, but at least it made things interesting.

Kyle kept chattering away, long enough so that Mark went through another cigarette and finished two shots of whiskey, until he finally started feeling antsy. He flicked his cigarette butt away and rapped sharply on the table, once, just to get Kyle's attention. When Kyle turned to him, Mark make a circular motion with his hand, indicating that it was time for him to wrap shit up and get a move on. Kyle looked down sadly, but he obeyed; maybe not as quickly as Mark would've preferred, but he obeyed all the same.

"Stan, I have to go," Kyle murmured, clutching the phone like it was his only lifeline to the rest of the universe. "Yeah, I know, uh huh." He listened, and a little smile quirked at his lips. "I'll call you soon, okay? I just need to figure some of this bullshit out. I love you, too -"

Mark knocked on the table again, this time harder, making Kyle jump.

"Okay, alright. Yeah, I'll talk to you later. I lo-"

Mark came over and gently took the phone from Kyle before he could finish his statement, pressing the button and ending the call. Feeling nauseated at all of the lovey dovey crap he just had to listen to, Mark slipped the phone in his pocket and rubbed a hand through Kyle's hair, tangling up the soft curls.

"There, see? I can be nice too," he said, continuing to stroke his hair; loving every last curl and strand.

"I guess," Kyle replied, but now he sounded deflated. Mark draped his hands on his shoulders and massaged them, noticing just how tense Kyle really was.

"Wow, you're really knotted up," Mark said, continuing to rub at the taut skin.

"Hmm."

"What, are you not going to talk to me just because I'm not Stan?" Mark asked, frustration rising up inside of him. He couldn't fucking catch a break, it seemed.

"I'm just waiting for you to, you know," Kyle sighed, gazing up into the sky again, but he didn't finish his thought.

"What?"

"Oh, I"m just waiting for the other shoe to drop, I suppose. You'll tell me to get on my knees and then before I know it you'll be waking me up at dawn to bathe my wounds." He waved a hand. "So, just get on with it so we can get it over with, okay?"

Mark's hands clenched on Kyle's shoulders while he fought back the urge to go and grab his collar. Collecting himself, he loosened his grip and rubbed Kyle's skin as tenderly as he could, all the while trying to find a way to convey to him that he was trying to be nice, goddammit. Couldn't he fucking see that and accept it?

"Look, there's Boötes," Mark said, pointing at a cluster of stars, his fingers tracing out the kite-shaped pattern against the dark blue backdrop.

"Where?" Kyle asked, and Mark was surprised to hear actual interest in his voice. He craned his head, trying to follow where Mark was pointing.

"Here," Mark said, releasing his shoulders. "Let me grab the telescope and I can show you better. Is that okay?"

"Sure," Kyle replied, standing up to go and lean against the balcony wall, his eyes scanning the heavens.

Mark went and got the telescope where it was languishing in his bedroom, a thin film of dust coating it, making him feel guilty for neglecting it for so long. He set it up and after fiddling it for a moment, he stepped back and gestured to Kyle, who had been watching him curiously.

"Come here," Mark said. "It's all set."

Kyle came over and leaned forward to look through the eyepiece, his nose scrunching up and making him look adorable. Vaguely, Mark was aware that his heartbeat was picking up a little, and feeling almost timid, he draped his hand on Kyle's back, expecting him to flinch away. When he didn't, he relaxed slightly, and rubbed him a little, relishing the warmth coming through his t shirt.

"Wow, it's kind of shaped like an ice cream cone," Kyle remarked.

"Do you see the really bright star?" Mark asked, still stroking Kyle's back languidly. "It's kind of bright red?"

"I think so," Kyle said.

"That's Arcturus," Mark said. "It's one of the brightest stars in the sky, and is actually the brightest in the northern hemisphere." He laughed a little. "Becky used to have a horse and she named him Arcturus, but we called him Archie for short."

"It's beautiful," Kyle said, his voice soft.

"Isn't it?" Mark asked, encouraged by his interest. "It means 'Guardian of the Bear' because it's so close to Ursa Major, or, you know, the Greater Bear. Most people just call it the Big Dipper, I guess."

Kyle stood up, and now he was smiling.

"You know, I've honestly always really liked this part of your personality, Mark," he said. "The part of you that has the ability to look up at the stars and get lost in them. When you talk about them you actually sound happy, and I can believe that there's actually something you might love."

"I'm not a complete monster, Kyle," Mark replied, gruffly. He dropped his hand from Kyle's back. "There's plenty of things that I love, even if you don't believe me."

"It's just so hard to know if you're telling the truth when you keep doing so many awful things," Kyle said, his eyes drifting back toward the stars. "You keep changing the game and rewriting the rules. I never know what to think, but this whole things makes me think of something Kenny said awhile ago."

"Oh?"

"No one's all good or all bad, you know? Everyone exists in shades of grey, not just black and white, and I guess the same can be said for you. I mean, even though you make it almost impossible to love you completely, I can see the things in you that I'd like to love if you'd give me the chance."

Feeling tender, Mark reached out and took Kyle's hand, holding it softly; almost like it was a wild animal he was afraid of hurting.

"When you spoke to Stan all I could do was wish that you sounded that happy when you were talking to me," he said, blushing. Suddenly, he felt so ridiculous, but that's how Kyle made him feel; whimsical and stupid and angry and dangerous all at once. How was any of this possible? The stars above, Kyle's hand in his own, this entire crazy situation? How could he feel so out of control one second, so murderous, and then be so filled with love and painful longing the next? Kyle was right, he was insane, but he guessed it couldn't be helped.

"I just don't know, Mark," Kyle replied. "There's only so much damage a person can take, before they can't repair themselves anymore. But, who knows? Who fucking knows anything anymore? I mean, I shouldn't even be here right now, when you really get down to it, and yet I am. I'm standing on your balcony and looking at the stars with you, when most people, sane people, mind you, would've just gone to the police and turned themselves in." He shrugged. "Maybe I'm just as crazy as you are."

Mark sighed.

"I need a Xanax," he said, suddenly. "Do you want one, too?"

"Sure, why not? What's it going to hurt at this point? But," Kyle stopped, his face becoming completely serious. "You better not slip me anything else or try to take advantage of this situation. Okay? I'm trusting you here, so don't fuck it up."

"Okay, fair enough," Mark replied. "Stay here, I'll be right back."

Pretty soon, he came back with two Xanax and a bottle of water that Kyle eyed with distaste.

"I promise I won't try anything, Kyle," Mark said, rolling his eyes.

"I must be out of my goddamn mind," Kyle said, snorting, as he swallowed the Xanax with a splash of water. "Will this get me fucked up?"

"Nah, not really, but it will take the edge off," Mark replied, taking a swig of water too.

"Good, because I could really use it after the week I've had," Kyle said. "Here, show me some more constellations, okay? Please?"

*****  
What was he even doing right now? He had to be out of his mind to accept a Xanax from Mark of all people. For all Kyle knew, he was probably being given another roofie, and this time he had no one to blame but himself.

But, really, what did it even matter anymore? His thoughts were so jumbled and fucked all to hell, Kyle could barely tell if he was coming or going at this point. He couldn't even understand his own emotions anymore; how his heart ached with sadness and elation when he heard Stan's voice on the phone, but then his heart had started beating a little faster when Mark put his hand on his back while Kyle gazed at the stars.

Maybe he really was losing his mind. After all, Kyle had suffered quite a bit of trauma in a short amount of time. The past year had been a haze of sex and blood and fear and desire; everything culminating into one big throbbing mass of confusion and discord. He felt like his sanity was hanging on by a thread, and the added threat of potentially being put away for helping to cover up an attempted murder was almost more than he could bear. The fact that Mark was using this as leverage to keep him from escaping was starting to splinter his brain, and whenever he showed any bit of humanity or tenderness, Kyle couldn't help but be lured in; how else could he possibly survive?

It wasn't too long before Kyle started feeling a little woozy, and the stars were blending together as Mark pointed them out and explained their names and mythology; taking the time to answer all of Kyle's slurred questions. Pretty soon Kyle was leaning against him, his head on Mark's shoulder, and his body was becoming wonderfully loose and relaxed. Suddenly, his thought didn't seem as loud, and his fears seemed a little farther away; relegated to a place where they didn't seem quite as overwhelming. The nighttime opened up around him and almost seemed to consume everything, and the sparkle of the stars almost made him want to cry.

"Hey, are you okay? You're being really quiet," Mark said, his arm wrapped around Kyle's shoulder and holding him close. "Did the Xanax kick in, or what?"

"I guess so," Kyle replied, shaking his head a little, but that only made him dizzier. Grasping at Mark's shirt, he suddenly giggled a little, feeling almost boneless and sleepy in a way that wasn't frustrating; just enjoyable.

"Here, I think you'd better sit down," Mark commented, leading Kyle to a chair. Kyle still held onto his shirt, refusing to let him go.

"Do you know the story of the scorpion and the frog?" He asked, his head swimming even as he tried to stay focused.

"I don't think I do," Mark replied, pulling a chair close so he could sit next to Kyle. He cocked an eyebrow. "Why don't you share it with me?"

"Well, the story goes like this," Kyle said, and then he paused, trying to collect his cloudy thoughts. "Oh yeah, anyway, the story is about this scorpion asking a frog to carry him across a river, okay? So, naturally, the frog hesitates because, come on, it's a fucking scorpion; why wouldn't he hesitate, you know? The scorpion would totally sting the shit out of the frog, right?"

"Uh huh," Mark said, after Kyle lapsed into silence for a moment. "And?"

"Oh, so the scorpion manages to talk the frog into doing it by arguing that if he were to sting the frog, they'd both drown. So, convinced by his logic, the frog agrees but then halfway across the river, guess what the scorpion does?"

"I can only imagine," Mark replied, amused now. "Let me guess, the scorpion stings the shit out of the frog?"

"Exactly, and then when the frog asks why, the scorpion just says that it was in its nature to do so."

"Stupid fucking scorpion," Mark said, smiling wryly. "But I guess it makes sense, huh? Some leopards really can't change their spots, can they?"

"Damn straight," Kyle replied, letting go of Mark's shirt and laying back against his chair, allowing the sky to wash over him and become a blanket of stars across his lap; his head in the clouds.

"I have a feeling you're trying to communicate something to me right now, but I'm not sure I'm following you," Mark commented. "Can you enlighten me, please?"

"What is fundamentally vicious cannot be changed," Kyle replied. "It's really very simple, even if it's frustrating."

"Ah, I see, and I take it that's how you feel about me?"

Kyle shrugged.

"You're nothing if not a scorpion."

"Is that so?" Mark murmured, his hand coming to rest on Kyle's thigh and squeezing lightly; but it didn't fill Kyle with dread like the gesture normally would. "Kyle, can I ask you something?"

"Hmm, sure. Why not?" Kyle managed to tear his eyes away from the stars to regard Mark, and found that his face was very close to his own; his dark eyes burning but not with anger. Rather, they looked as lost and bright as the stars shining lifetimes away.

"Would it be okay if I kissed you?"

Kyle smirked.

"If I let you would we actually make it across the river?"

"I guess you'll just have to wait and see," Mark smiled. "Hopefully you can find a way to trust me more than a silly fable."

"That remains to be seen," Kyle said, and after a moment he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Mark's, and for the first time in awhile he didn't feel like he was being forced. Their lips lingered for a moment, and when Mark drew back, he rested his forehead against Kyle's, his voice soft and melancholy.

"Do you think you'll ever be able to love me again?"

"I guess you'll just have to wait and see," Kyle parried, smirking. "I mean, you want to burn me like an undesirable field, Mark. How the fuck am I supposed to respond to that?"

"Hey, even the frog gave the scorpion a chance," Mark said, licking Kyle's bottom lip and kissing him again, tenderly.

"Yeah, and look what happened to them; they're both fucking dead," Kyle said, allowing Mark's lips to drift down his chin and along his jawline.

"Still, I can change, maybe not entirely, but enough to make you happy, I think."

"But you're still going to want to control me, right? Punish me?"

"Admit it, Kyle. You like some of the things I do, don't you?"

"Hmm, I'm not ready to answer that question."

"Fine, then we don't have to talk anymore if you don't want to," Mark said, and he kissed Kyle under the light of a million stars; making him sigh and almost drift away.

If only it could always be like that with Mark; stars and soft kisses and affection. Kyle sunk into the kiss and tried to forget the darkness, allowing the stars and night to seep into his skin; desperately wishing that animals could change their natures, because maybe it was the only way he'd ever find salvation.


	37. Part II; Kyle's POV - Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING - SEXUAL VIOLENCE/RAPE, VIOLENCE, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIPS, ETC. Just steer clear if you don't want to read about that stuff, okay? Seriously.
> 
> Mark is really becoming unhinged, you guys. Like, seriously boy, GET SOME FUCKING THERAPY.
> 
> BUT, and I promise this to anyone who's still reading, he is going to get his comeuppance. I absolutely swear on all I hold dear that the boy will pay. We're getting to that point, and I'm actually pretty excited about it. I'm about ready to relinquish Kyle from the grip of evil...or at least we're close, so hold on, baby boy. <3

> **"And they worshiped the dragon, for he had given his authority to the beast, and they worshiped the beast, saying, “Who is like the beast, and who can fight against it?"**
> 
> **\- Thessalonians 4:13-18**

* * *

**  
** Morning sunlight, soft and pure, cascaded through the windows and fell across Mark's naked back, making Kyle gasp. Hearing this sharp intake of breath, Mark glanced over his shoulder at him, one eyebrow lifted; his expression questioning.

"I just haven't really seen your back since, you know," Kyle said softly, his eyes still traveling over Mark's skin. "I mean, I caught glimpses of it, but I hadn't really paid attention, you know?"

Mark grunted and turned to him, the light illuminating his hair and glinting off of his glasses.

"So, what do you think? I'm sure the aftermath must give you some degree of satisfaction, right?"

Kyle shook his head, though inside he was secretly glad to see the carnage left behind from Rebecca's attack. Mark's back, which at one point was completely untarnished as far as he could remember, was now marred with multiple pink scars, some of his wounds still in the process of knitting and scarring over completely. They were jagged and etched through his flesh like a hellish roadmap, detailing the gruesome places he'd been. Kyle started to count them and his eyes widened when he realized Rebecca had stabbed her brother more times than he'd though she had; totaling six in all. Just how the fuck did Mark survive such an ordeal? Was he even human?

Kyle's eyes settled on another, smaller scar on Mark's lower back, and he was surprised that it seemed much older than the other disfigurements. He studied it, and saw that it almost appeared to be in the shape of something, if he had to guess. Drawing closer, he held out a hand so he could trace a finger over it, making Mark jump a little. He looked up in amazement; Mark had never reacted to Kyle touching him like that.

"What are you doing?" Mark asked, his eyes narrowing and becoming hard.

Kyle pulled his hand away, becoming afraid at the edge in Mark's voice; mainly because it was so sudden. The morning had passed uneventfully so far, Kyle having awoken feeling warm and a little sticky; Mark's arms wrapped around him and holding him so close he could barely move. Really, it was standard at this point; if Kyle was spending the night with Mark, he would be possessed even in slumber. They'd kissed a little before Mark fucked him, but he'd been tender and soft, the emotion from the previous night being carried over as he thrust into Kyle's body. Kyle, for his part, was still feeling the residual effects of the Xanax and the stars, so he'd given in without protest, wanting to coast on Mark's fleeting kindness for just a little longer before the inevitable horrors appeared again.

"I just never noticed that scar before," Kyle replied, his voice becoming shaky. "It looked pretty old, so I was just touching it." He continued to study the scar, his curiosity overtaking him. "It looks like a letter almost." He squinted. "If I had to guess, it looks like the letter -"

"That's enough," Mark said abruptly, cutting Kyle off. "That scar is none of your business, Kyle." He stood up and pulled on a pair of pajama pants, glancing at Kyle as he did so; his eyes still cold. "Well?"

Kyle sat up, pulling the sheets to his chest. He raised his eyebrows, looking into Mark's face still flooded with morning sunshine; misty and yellow.

"I want to go smoke a cigarette, Kyle," Mark said.

"Oh, right," Kyle replied, quickly pushing himself up and off the bed. Without thinking, he reached for his boxers but stopped when Mark cleared his throat, making him look over his shoulder; eyes wide.

"Did I say you could get dressed?"

"Well, no," Kyle said, his hands trembling as they gripped the boxers. "But, Mark, I can't -"

Mark smiled, the coldness in his eyes remaining, even as humor crept into them.

"You know I prefer to have you naked, Kyle. Right?"

Kyle blushed, feeling humiliated and angry all at once. Now he had to ask for permission to get dressed? Mark had always made it very obvious that he liked to have Kyle naked and ready, whenever he was of a mind to take him, but this was too much, really. He couldn't very well stand on Mark's balcony in the nude; what if someone saw him? It just didn't make any sense, and he told Mark as much, hating that his voice was low and afraid.

"You still need to ask," Mark replied, simply. "Honestly, I'm not really concerned about anyone seeing you, Kyle. This house is all but concealed from the outside world, and the landscapers aren't scheduled to work today, and it's Janice's day off. The only person who might see you is Becky, and she's already seen you naked tons of times."

He went to the dresser and grabbed his pack of cigarettes and the lighter, turning back to Kyle, his expression wry.

"My point is, you can't just make decisions like that on your own, not at this stage in the game." He shook a cigarette out and placed the pack back on his dresser. "I wasn't kidding when I said that things were going to change, and that encompasses everything, Kyle. I need to take control of this entire situation, not just parts of it; how else would you learn?"

Kyle considered his words, and while he still found them shocking and alarming, unbelievably disturbing, as well, he couldn't say that he was very surprised. It was amazing the things one could get used to when relentlessly assaulted with insanity and delusion; after awhile, some of it started to make sense because it became the new normal. Still, Mark's comment about the house being essentially closed off from the world was extremely disconcerting, though Kyle had figured that out a long time ago. He was so vulnerable trapped in Mark's castle, and he wouldn't be surprised if he went searching and managed to find a locked room, that with the right key would reveal the heads of Mark's former prey hanging on the walls; being the Bluebeard that he was. The thought made him shudder.

"Let's try this again, okay?" Mark asked, watching him closely; waiting.

Kyle stared at him, feeling at a loss for a moment before it dawned on him, and he detested Mark so much in that moment he could taste it. All of the stars and gentle words from the night before were all but swept away when he understood what he wanted; and now his hands weren't just shaking from fear, but from rage as well.

"You can't be serious," Kyle said, his voice low and filled with fury.

"Watch your mouth, Kyle," Mark replied, dark eyes relentlessly focused and self-assured. "I'll give you one warning, okay? Now, what is it you want? Ask me nicely and I'd pretty much give you anything." He laughed a little. "Within reason, of course."

Humiliation filled up Kyle's mind until it covered everything else; smothering it, even the rage. Swallowing down a mouth suddenly filled with saliva and invisible bitter pills, he looked at the floor when he spoke next.

"Can I get dressed?"

Mark laughed again, and Kyle's head snapped up; the rage filling his blood and making it race.

"I don't know, Kyle," Mark replied, smirking. "Can you?"

 _You've got to be fucking kidding me,_ Kyle thought, his hands clenching into fists as he gripped his boxers. _This motherfucker is unbelievable._

"I'm waiting," Mark said, an edge developing in his voice that Kyle knew all too well.

"Fine," Kyle sighed, his shoulders drooping with the exhaustion that always came with capitulation. "May I get dressed?" He looked into Mark's eyes, hating the delight he saw in them, but he still remained silent. Kyle hung his head. "Please?"

"Of course you can, Kyle," Mark replied, his voice gentle and kind again. He pulled open the balcony door and stuck a hand out, seemingly feeling the air. "It's a little nippy outside," he said, frowning. "It's odd for this time of year but I guess it can't be helped. You should probably put a sweater on, too." Stepping outside, he turned to Kyle and suddenly he seemed very relaxed, happy even. "When you're done, join me outside. It's gorgeous this morning."

*****

Kyle watched the birds flit through the trees as early summer winds played with his hair; the bright sunshine filling up the world and almost making it look brand new. Idly, he thought about the passage of seasons he'd watched from this very spot since this whole ordeal began; crisp, early Autumn, the heart of winter, cold and unyielding, spring and its promises of warmth and growth, and now summer, its arid breath waiting to turn everything to dust. His thoughts couldn't help but drift to last June and that wonderful day at Sparks Pond with Stan, where they'd finally been honest with each other and professed their love; the stars falling into alignment above their heads as the moon coasted on cloudy seas.

Things had just changed so fast, and Kyle could barely come to terms with his new circumstances. He had all but sold himself into a life of pain and sexual servitude, and he couldn't help but think that he'd already started to lose himself along the way. The Kyle he thought he was would never have been stupid enough to walk into a situation like this, allow himself to be ensnared and trapped by such a devious predator, but here he was. Did he even know himself at all if he was capable of getting into such an awful predicament? And how the fuck was he ever going to escape? At this point it felt like Mark would always hold all the cards, no matter what Kyle did, and he couldn't even imagine a solution that would actually work. He had a feeling that the only way he could deliver himself out of this situation was to become as ruthless as Mark, and he just didn't know if he could bring himself to that point.

"You're being so quiet," Mark said suddenly, putting Kyle on edge immediately. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Kyle scrambled for an answer before Mark's uncanny ability to guess his inner musings could rear its head. In a panic, he grabbed onto the first thing that came to mind, but he cringed after the words drifted into the air.

"I was just thinking about that scar on your lower back," he said, wanting to pull the words back immediately. How could he be so fucking stupid? Mark had already made it clear the scar was not an acceptable topic for conversation. Kyle waited, dread pooling in his belly.

Mark was quiet for a moment, and out of the corner of his eye Kyle could see him languidly flicking some ash off of his cigarette.

"I haven't really told you a lot about my past, have I?" He asked, taking Kyle by surprise. He hadn't expected Mark's response to take this direction.

"No, not really," Kyle replied, honestly. "I mean, I've asked, but you've pretty much told me to mind my own business."

"As well you should," Mark said, smiling. He took another drag. "But, I suppose it's only fair that I give you more information about myself, right? I want to know everything about you, and I'll make sure that I will someday, but relationships are two-way streets, aren't they?"

Kyle sat in silence, once again taken aback at Mark's ability to switch gears with blinding speed. Was this the same person that demanded he ask permission to get dressed less than half an hour ago?

"I guess," he finally said, still on his guard; always, always on his guard.

"Well, that scar is the result of," he paused, smoke leaking out of his mouth, his eyes a little faraway. "Someone I knew a long time ago."

A memory stirred in Kyle, and suddenly he could recall a conversation they'd had ages ago.

"Does it have anything to do with the person who trained you?" He asked, frowning and trying to remember; it'd been so long ago. "I remember you saying something about being at someone's mercy, and that they were pretty sadistic."

Mark smiled, the early morning sunlight catching one of his sharp canines.

"Good memory," he said. "Yes, I did tell you about that, didn't I? About that person."

Kyle nodded.

Mark flicked some more ash off of his cigarette and crossed his legs. The sunlight made his chestnut highlights sparkle, and it fell across his skin, rendering it a pale landscape. He was still lean and sinewy, but somehow he looked softer too; after his convalescence. Kyle could almost consider him vulnerable, if he didn't know him so well.

"Yes, Kyle, he was very sadistic; very good at what he did. I can remember the beatings and being fucked until I was almost unconscious." Mark stubbed out his cigarette, his eyes bitter. "There were days where I could barely move because of the pain, and there wasn't a moment where I wasn't afraid of him." He shrugged. "But he was my master, you know? I had to obey, or else."

Kyle stared at him in astonishment. Mark, his own personal hell beast, had been in Kyle's position at one point? How could that ever be true?

"How did you ever end up in a position like that?" Kyle asked, his voice faint. "I could never, ever see you being treated that way. Never."

Mark flicked the cigarette butt away.

"What can I say? I was young and stupid, new to anything sexual, really. Remember I told you that Becky got herself roped in with the wrong crowd when we lived in Baltimore? Well, this guy was the worst of the bunch, even though he taught me everything I know, pretty much."

"But how did you ever let yourself be used like that by him? It just doesn't fit with who you are; your personality."

Mark looked at him, and Kyle couldn't read his expression. It seemed to be a combination of grief, rage, and hopelessness, but he couldn't say what it stemmed from because Mark didn't have the ability to make anything simple.

"Initially, he wanted Becky, Kyle," he said, softly. "He found out that she was a virgin and I guess that piqued his sick interest. Naturally, I wasn't going to let that happen, so I volunteered to take her place." Mark smirked, but it lacked his usual malevolence. "I was a virgin too, and I guess he liked my attitude; so he accepted my proposal. I guess I was just lucky."

"Why did he have to have either of you?" Kyle asked, completely at a loss. He never could've seen this conversation coming; this onslaught of new information that left him feelingly faintly ill.

"Like I said, we were in pretty deep, Kyle; Becky especially. She was going through a really rebellious stage and got wrapped up with drugs and bullshit. Well, I guess she owed this guy a lot of money for drugs he'd given her, and at one point she promised to pay him back with," he grimaced, "sexual favors. But when the time came to pay up she came to me, and I took her place."

"Why didn't you just pay him off?"

"This was before our mom had really started practicing again, Kyle, so we didn't have as much money as we do now. Besides, we owed this guy a lot; more than I could've possibly gotten unless I stole it." Mark shrugged. "I really didn't want to pay a debt by creating another one so I figured, what the fuck? It's just my body and it's mine to give, so what's the big deal?"

He pulled another cigarette from where he had it resting behind his ear, and lit that one up as well.

"In retrospect, I know I should've just fucking paid him the money, because what he took from me, what he did to me," he sighed. "It was worth more than all the money in the world. He was out for blood, and he got it, Kyle; he got it in spades." Mark took a long pull on the cigarette, the smoke escaping and filtering towards the candy-bright sky. "I've never been the same, honestly, but it can't be helped at this point. At the very least, he helped me understand what I did want."

"Control and power," Kyle said, softly. "Right? Just like he had over you?"

"I suppose so," Mark smiled. "It certainly made him happy, or at least his version of happy. When I experienced it myself, I could see why he got off on it; like it was the sweetest, most glorious sensation in the world. To completely own someone, heart and soul. It's fucking intoxicating."

Kyle was starting to feel angry now, even though faint stirrings of compassion were moving through him at the news of Mark's sacrifice for the sake of his sister.

"But, Mark," he said, trying to choose his words carefully; to make him understand his point. "You're basically telling me that you've been in my position before, that you may have had it worse, and you fucking hated it. So, why are you okay with subjecting me to the same sort of degradation? Don't you see the hypocrisy here?"

"I never said I was a fucking saint, Kyle," Mark replied, his voice dark and full of warning. "I told you that I wasn't suited for that position, but that doesn't mean you aren't."

"Why do you get to make that decision for me, Mark?!" Kyle yelled, not caring that his voice was raised and full of anger. Somehow, knowing Mark's past made everything so much worse. Now he had to live with the knowledge that Mark knew exactly what he was going through, and he was perfectly fine with prolonging his suffering; making it stretch on for god knows how long, and adding to it as well! The unmitigated gall Mark possessed was beyond Kyle's scope of comprehension, and the caustic hate that flooded him was more than he could possibly contain.

Mark turned to him, his eyes burning but still so devoid of the things Kyle needed to see; understanding, compassion, anything that resembled normal human responses. His face was a livid portrait, filled with fury but still so remote, like a planet that rotated light years away and would never know the touch of mankind. He ground out his cigarette in careful twists, but the way his fingers clenched it Kyle could tell Mark was imagining it was his throat being crushed between his hands.

"I'm going to reiterate that I love you, Kyle, so that's the crux of the situation, but beyond that," Mark smiled, eyes still reflecting cold, uninhabitable space, "beyond that, I can only make my verdict based on your conduct. Wouldn't you say that anyone who's stupid enough to willingly waltz into the spider's web deserves exactly what they have coming? Huh?"

Kyle drew back, feeling like he'd been struck; not only by Mark's anger but by the cruelty of his words. Kyle hated the truth in them, almost as much as he hated the person in front of him.

"There's no way I could ever have known what this would turn into Mark," he said. "So, I'm going to be punished because I wanted to care about you? How is that fair? How was I supposed to know you'd turn out to be a monster?"

"Red flags are red for a reason, Kyle. You're supposed to notice them." Mark waved his hand dismissively. "Besides, I want to treat you with care, so stop acting like this whole thing is a death sentence. I don't just want to punish you, I want to love you as well. We're only at this point because you won't learn, and not to mention," he rolled his eyes, his voice now dripping with sarcasm, "you tried to help my sister cover up her attempt to fucking kill me. You must excuse me for still being pissed off about that. Really, where do I get my nerve?"

"You're unbelievable," Kyle seethed, suddenly wishing with all of his being that he'd ignored Rebecca's pleas and left this piece of garbage to bleed out on his bedroom floor. "You know what? I'm glad this person made your life miserable. I wish he had fucking killed you."

Mark laughed.

"Look who's filled with fire today," he commented. "I guess you wanted to set the tone early, huh? Fine, we can play, if that's what you want. I actually wanted to just hang out and have fun today, but you know me, I'm always up for changing our plans." He stood up and stretched. "We probably could've avoided all of this bullshit if you'd just kept your nose out of my business, but curiosity kills the cat, huh?"

Kyle gritted his teeth and considered just jumping up and running away, but he stayed rooted to the spot; knowing he was fully ensnared in the spider's web and that trying to escape just meant the strands would wind tighter.

"At least tell me this person's name," he said. "I want to know who I should thank for giving you a small taste of what you deserve."

"Like I'd give you the satisfaction," Mark replied, and now his face was awash in malicious glee. "Enough talk, Kyle. Let me get your collar."

*****

That night, Kyle could barely move without pain stabbing through him, and as he showered in the comfort and quiet of his own bathroom, he could've cried at what Mark had managed to do to his body. When he stepped out of the tub and the steam had dissipated, he regarded himself in the mirror, and he had to fight the urge to just break down completely.

Bruises bloomed on his arms and hips and torso; violet, black, and deep blue. Looking down, he saw bruises forming on his thighs, too, and when he turned around, he gasped at the damage that had been done from the belt, Mark's hands, and his horrible sharp teeth. Bite marks stained his flesh, making it puffy and red, and the strikes from the belt had left raised welts that burned whenever Kyle could dare to touch them.

Mark was smart, though, and had been careful not to mar Kyle's forearms or calves, his face and neck, aside from the bite he'd left there; Kyle was grateful to see that it was already mending, fading away. The places where the handcuffs had rubbed him raw were bruising up, but they were minimal in comparison to what Mark did with his own hands. He didn't want to harm places Kyle couldn't easily cover, and Mark also said that he didn't want to damage Kyle's pretty face. That day's punishment had left Kyle breathless with pain, and he tried to push the memory away even as images of rope and handcuffs floated through his mind; complete with Mark making him lean in the same uncomfortable position for hours until he said he'd learned his lesson. Kyle had learned that Mark didn't need to touch him in order to make him suffer.

Once again, Mark had completely disarmed Kyle after everything was said and done, and he'd held him so close and with such care that Kyle felt like he was coming unhinged. He'd stroked his fingers through Kyle's hair and dabbed a bit of blood off of his arm, licking it away and smiling because he seemed to enjoy all of Kyle's flavors. When he wasn't trying to crush Kyle under his thumb Mark treated him like he was breakable and priceless; the most precious thing in the world to him. On the flipside of the agony were the star-filled nights and gentle baths, being held in strong arms at 3 am and kisses being laid on his temple.

Kyle dressed, glad to cover up the nightmare his body had become, and slowly walked to his room; not wanting to move too fast lest his injuries sit up and take notice. When he walked inside, his eyes fell on his phone and suddenly he was afraid of it; hating himself for letting Mark get to him to such a degree that even his phone had the power to terrify him. He couldn't believe when Mark had given it back, telling him he trusted Kyle to make the right decisions regarding it, and promising him that he'd know if he didn't. Kyle hated that with one motion he could be speaking to Stan, spilling everything and begging for help, but Mark had tied his hands even when it came to looking for assistance. Really, he'd thought of everything, and it was this knowledge that served to keep Kyle in line even when they were miles apart. Feeling uneasy, he picked up his phone and slipped it into his pocket, trying to get used to its weight again.

Mark had not been happy when Kyle had to leave, but he'd had to concede. Kyle's mother had called and said that they missed him at home, and had even gone so far as to offer Mark an invitation, but Mark had declined. Kyle wasn't surprised when he did. Mark couldn't stand being anywhere where he couldn't be in full control, and having to be with Kyle at his home would've been torture for him; watching his property move about without asking first and exerting free will in all things. He'd kissed Kyle's mouth hard and reminded him to be good, to "stay sweet," and not forget his lessons, because he would be back soon enough, wouldn't he?

The only comfort Kyle could draw from any part of his situation was the knowledge that Mark had once suffered the way he was suffering, and the thought gave him savage pleasure. Mark had once had to get on his knees, too, and been beaten and brutalized, forced to sacrifice his dignity. Kyle hated himself for being so cruel, but he tried to imagine Mark being at the mercy of a cruel, unforgiving master, because at the moment it was the only silver lining he could find. He also gloried in the fact that Mark had still seemed afraid of this person from his past, even though he hadn't explicitly stated it; but Kyle knew better. You didn't just go through an ordeal like that without bringing fear with you on the other side, it stayed with you, probably forever. Kyle just hoped that Mark had tasted even a fraction of his ongoing degradation, and from the way he described the situation, his wounds had been far worse; his blood spilled in greater amounts.

Kyle also had to wonder if this person, this master, had created the monster he was currently dealing with. Sure, he had introduced Mark to certain dark tastes, a terrifying alternative lifestyle, but had he been responsible for putting the sickness in Mark's blood, the insanity? Or was Mark just that way from birth, a true, unforgiving sociopath that hungered for someone to terrorize and control? More than anything, Kyle wanted to find this person and ask him these questions and make some sense of Mark's mystery, although he had to admit he was terrified of this phantom; if he was worse than Mark he could only imagine the atrocities he'd want to put him through. But still, he couldn't help but wonder....

"Kyle, can you come downstairs for a second? I want to talk to you!" Kyle's mother shouted up the stairs, startling him. Frantically, Kyle tried to put his thoughts in order because Mark's madness certainly didn't coincide with his home life; he could never allow the two to mix if he was going to stay sane.

"Sure, yeah!" He called, studying himself in his mirror quickly. Did he look okay? Or would his mother know; see the bruises and wounds even though they were covered up? He pulled the hood of his sweater up, just to be on the safe side. Kyle would be absolutely humiliated if his mother saw what he'd become because he'd never be able to explain the things Mark had done to him; put him through.

In a moment, Kyle was stepping into the kitchen to see his mother waiting for him at the table, two mugs sitting before her. She smiled and beckoned him over.

"I made you some tea, bubelah," she said, pushing it toward Kyle as he sat down. "I wanted to discuss something with you that I'm pretty sure will make you very happy."

Kyle took a small sip of tea, reveling in the comforts of home and family. Everything here felt so normal after dealing with Mark, and he found that he'd garnered a new appreciation for things he may have taken for granted in the past. He glanced at his mother, his eyebrows raised in a silent question.

"Well, I just got off the phone with Mark's mother," she said, tapping her phone lying beside her mug. "And she's extended a very generous offer to you."

Kyle's blood ran cold at her words and he put his mug down, his thirst evaporating swiftly.

"What do you mean?" He asked, trying to keep the shake out of his voice.

"Lydia offered to let you go with Mark to their beach house on the eastern shore for the next two months," she replied, her voice brimming with excitement at Kyle's obvious good fortune. "She said that since school is over for the summer that Mark will be going there to continue recovering from his injuries, and she'd love for you to go along to keep him and Rebecca company." She gripped her mug and took a small sip, her eyes dancing with naive merriment. "They have family that still lives out there, and they've been very kind in inviting Mark and his sister to come stay. And you too, of course," she smiled.

Kyle could feel the blood draining from his face from this bit of information, and faintly he was aware that he was pushing himself away from the table slowly. All he could do was stare at his mother as he felt bile rising up the back of his throat.

"Kyle? Kyle, are you okay?" She asked, reaching out and trying to take hold of his hand. He snatched it away, tired of being touched by anyone. "You look so pale all of a sudden."

"I, uh," Kyle stammered, trying to get a hold of himself, but it was bordering on impossible. "I guess I'm just surprised at the news, mom." He tried to smile, but he felt like his face was going to crack.

"I can't blame you, they're just too kind," Sheila sighed. "And you've had such a hard year, Kyle. I really think it would be good for you to get away for awhile."

"But what about my internship, and volunteering?" Kyle asked, the bile still sloshing in his stomach and throat. What about not being at Mark's mercy for the entire summer? _If I'm staying with him out of state there's no way I'll ever have any respite,_ he thought frantically.

A cold realization came over him, and he had to grip the edge of the table so he wouldn't fall on the floor into the fetal position.

_This is his opportunity to break me down completely. If I'm staying with him there will be nowhere to go, no one to run to. There will only be Mark, and he'll make sure to use every weapon in his arsenal to completely bend me to his will. This is his chance to burn the field so it'll bear exactly what he wants it to._

"Kyle? Did you hear me?" Kyle's mom broke into his thoughts, her voice filled with concern.

"W-what?" Kyle asked, looking at her, his hands still clenched on the table even as tremors started breaking through his flesh.

"I said you don't need to worry about interning or whatever," she said, taking another sip of tea. "Mark's mother said she'd write you a glowing letter of recommendation to any college you want to attend, and when you come back from the shore you can intern in her office. She said she'd be happy to help you in whatever way she can because you've been such a blessing for Mark."

All of a sudden, Kyle could feel the handcuffs being locked, the collar being tightened, and the blood dripping from his skin with every bite and strike. He desperately wanted to cry but he knew it wouldn't do anything because he was trapped, and he'd continue to be trapped. He glanced at his mother and he pitied her so much in that moment he could barely stand it. She wasn't aware that she was actively helping to seal Kyle's fate, but if he could just tell her the truth he knew she would help him. But, no, Mark had thought of everything, and now he had Kyle exactly where he wanted him; locked away in a room where he could always find him, waiting.

"I have to go somewhere, mom," Kyle said, still feeling faint and nauseous. He pushed himself up from his seat. "I'll be back in a little while, okay?"

"But you just got home, Kyle," she replied, her eyebrows raised. "Where are you going?"

"I have to see Stan," Kyle replied, recklessly throwing caution to the wind. "I have to talk to him."

****

"Dude, what are you doing here?" Stan asked, his eyes bulging in his face from complete surprise. Quickly, he looked out into the hallway, clearly making sure that Mark wasn't present.

Kyle pushed past him and into his room, his arms wrapped around himself and hugging him from the chills coursing through his body. His body felt alive with fear and misery; abject terror pushing his brain to the breaking point.

"Mark isn't here, Stan. It's just me," he said, his voice brittle. "I just had to see you."

He almost screamed when he felt Stan's hands resting on his hips but he refrained, pushing a fist into his mouth and biting into the skin of his knuckles to steady himself.

"I can't tell you how close I was to just calling the fucking cops, Kyle," Stan murmured, his hands tightening on Kyle's body. He had to resist from moaning in pain as Stan's fingers pressed into his still freshly-forming bruises. "That guy is completely out of control. I even stopped by his house but of course I couldn't get in because of that goddamn wall. That place is like a fortress."

Kyle pulled away and turned to face Stan, his lip trembling and tears already starting to fall down his face.

"Stan, you can't go to the police, okay? You just can't."

"What are you talking about?" Stan asked, coming forward but not touching him again. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Just what the hell is going on, Kyle?"

"Mark has leverage," Kyle said, carefully. "He has information that, if he were to go to the police, would get me into a lot of trouble." He looked into Stan's eyes. "I'm talking serious trouble, Stan."

"Can you give me more information than that? I wouldn't tell anyone, Kyle, you know that."

"I helped Rebecca cover up something, okay? Something horrible, and now I wish I had just -" he broke off, afraid to continue because he was probably already saying too much.

Something clicked in Stan's eyes, though, and a dark knowledge flooded them. He smirked.

"I think I know what you're talking about," he said, softly, nodding his head. "Does this have anything to do with Mark's recent hospital stay, by any chance?"

Kyle nodded, his eyes skipping away from Stan's. He'd told Stan that Mark had tried to attack him again but he hadn't told him about the aftermath, the stabbing and all. Tongues wagged though, so it was impossible to keep Mark's stint in the hospital a secret. Before too long, the whole school knew that he'd been injured, they just didn't know why or how.

"Kyle, what did you do? Just tell me."

"I showed mercy for the wrong fucking person, that's what I did!" Kyle yelled, his mind almost reaching a breaking point; the strain becoming too much. "And now I'm paying the price, Stan. I'm fucking paying the price in spades."

Stan's eyes glowed with sympathy and love, but after what he'd been through Kyle had a hard time accepting it. He was almost to the point where he truly felt like he didn't deserve warmth or real affection. Maybe he deserved all of this punishment and Mark was right; he was just stupid and foolish and getting exactly what he had coming. A sob broke from his mouth at this thought.

"Kyle, come here," Stan said, gently, his arms opening wide. "Please?"

"No, I want you to see everything," Kyle sobbed, and he ripped his hood off, revealing the healing bite mark. Stan's eyes trailed over it, and his face just became more sorrowful.

"Kyle, I know. I already -"

"No, you don't know!" Kyle yelled and he pulled his sweater off, and he cringed when he heard Stan gasp. He came forward, his mouth open in shock, and his hand slowly reached out to drift along the map of bruises and wounds littering Kyle's flesh.

"Oh, my God," he whispered, his eyes filling with tears. He glanced up at Kyle's face. "Kyle, Mark did all of this to you? What -"

He became silent when Kyle pulled down his pajama pants slightly, showing the bite marks on his backside along with the welts from the belt lashing into his skin. Gritting his teeth, Kyle couldn't believe that he was actually letting Stan see the carnage that Mark had subjected him to. From the beginning he had alluded to it with Stan, but he'd never explicitly stated to what extent Mark had brutalized him. He wasn't exactly sure why he was showing him now, but he couldn't just hold the secret in any longer, because he was already alone enough; he had to let someone know so he could continue living at least a little.

"Kyle, why? Just, why?" Stan asked, touching Kyle so softly his fingertips were barely brushing against him. "Why would he hurt you like this?"

"This is how he punishes me," Kyle replied, closing his eyes in shame. He pulled his pants up and drew his sweater back on, pulling the hood into place over his head. "He says I have to learn to obey."

"What the fuck does that even mean?" Stan seethed, his voice loaded with cold fury. "And why the fuck does he think he has any right to do this?"

Kyle shrugged, his eyes opening again. Suddenly he felt so horribly deflated, and this sensation mixed with the shame that he felt because Stan knew the truth, or at least some of it. How could he explain it all?

"Mark has me in the perfect position for what he wants me to become," Kyle said, sitting on the edge of Stan's bed.

"And what's that?" Stan asked, plopping down on his desk chair, his posture suggesting that he was just as drained as Kyle.

"His doll, I guess." Kyle smirked, but it was completely devoid of humor. "His property, to do whatever he wants with. Mark says he loves me, Stan." He gestured to his throat. "This is his idea of love, I guess." He drew his legs up to his chest so he could lean his chin on his knees. "He has me over a barrel, and I really don't see a way out of my situation; so no, we can't just go to the cops or our parents. Mark knows that the consequences for my actions are enough of a deterrent for me to just let him do whatever he wants."

"I don't understand," Stan said, his voice cracking. "Why would he want to treat you like this? Why would anyone want to treat another person like this?" He slammed his fist down on his desk, making Kyle jump. "He doesn't have the first fucking clue what love is," he seethed. "That dirty prick is pure fucking evil. God, I wish I could snap his goddamn neck in two."

"No, you don't," Kyle murmured. "Then you'd be just as bad as he is, Stan. You're a good person; you've never wanted to really hurt another soul in your entire life." He smiled. "That's what I love about you."

"I'd make an exception for that piece of shit, Kyle. I swear," Stan said, darkly; his jaw clenched. He thought a moment, and then he cocked an eyebrow. "How are you here right now? Didn't he basically forbid you from seeing me?" He asked, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, but I don't fucking care, given the circumstances," Kyle replied, shifting his head so his cheek was pressed against his knees.

"What do you mean?"

"Mark managed to make it so I have to spend the entire summer with him on the eastern shore," he said, and he couldn't believe how dead his voice sounded as the words left his lips. "His mom called mine and, well, you know how that goes."

"Jesus Christ, Kyle," Stan said, running both his hands through his hair now, making it stand wildly on end. "Just tell your parents the truth! No matter what you did, just tell them! The consequences of whatever you did can't be as bad as all of this!"

"Trust me, they are," Kyle replied. "The fallout would probably wreck my entire future, Stan; then I'd never be a doctor. I'd never be anything."

Stan stared at him, his face at war with the emotions raging through him; grief and anger and hopelessness.

"But, he could kill you, Kyle," he whispered. "Mark could go too far one day and just -" he shook his head and stood up. "Fine, if you won't save yourself, I will." He started walking toward the door.

"Wait, what are you doing?!" Kyle asked, scrambling off the bed and running to catch him before he even had a chance to touch the doorknob.

"I'm going to tell my parents what Mark's been doing to you, Kyle," Stan said, turning back to him. "I should've said something before but I had no idea what was really going on. I can't just stand by and let this continue to happen!"

"No! You can't!" Kyle yelled, clutching at the front of Stan's shirt, tears sliding down his face as he pleaded with his eyes. "Stan, if you tell them they'll go to my parents and then they'll confront Mark and -"

He clutched at Stan's shirt and hung his head, his tears falling to the carpet below.

"Mark will tell them everything, and then he'll go to the police and my whole life will be destroyed."

Stan placed a hand under Kyle's chin and gently pulled his face up, looking deeply in Kyle's eyes.

"Kyle, he's already destroying you. You have to see that."

Kyle came forward and collapsed against him, his head resting on Stan's chest so he could hear his heartbeat racing a mile a minute. "I know that, Stan. But if I can endure this for long enough I may be able to come up with a solution. So, please, just don't say anything, okay? You have to promise me." Kyle's fingers clenched up in the fabric of Stan's t-shirt, and he breathed deeply of his familiar, reassuring scent; fabric softener and mint from the gum he liked to chew. "Please."

"How can you ask me to do that, Kyle?" Stan asked, winding his arms around Kyle and tugging him close, so wonderfully close. "You honestly want me to look the other way while you're suffering like this? I can't do that!"

"For now, please," Kyle murmured, kissing Stan's throat and finding his pulse. "I just needed to see you before I left for the summer. I needed you to know that I don't want to leave you, and there's no way I want Mark over you. I may have made that mistake in the past, but this is where I want to be. Here, with you."

Stan gently pulled Kyle's hood back so he could thread his fingers through his curls, holding him close as he looked into Kyle's eyes, his own a tide of blue that had always reminded Kyle of the sea. In a moment, Stan's lips found Kyle's and they were kissing deeply, and for a moment Kyle almost felt safe again; here in the arms of the person he loved the most.

"I love you so much, Kyle," Stan said between fervent, warm kisses. "I just want you to be okay; that's all I've ever wanted. I'm so sorry that I haven't been able to protect you more."

"You've always wanted to give me space and the opportunity to think for myself, Stan," Kyle replied, licking his bottom lip before kissing his mouth again, but lightly. "You aren't like Mark, you've never wanted to control me or tell me what to do. You let me make my own decisions, and now I have to find a way to save myself. You're my boyfriend; not my keeper or my parent. Your support is more than enough for me, okay?"

"Just try to stay safe, please," Stan said, holding him so close that Kyle squeaked. "I know that's asking a lot, but if I find out Mark has managed to hurt you worse than you already are, or if you come home and you're..." He stopped, shaking his head. "I can't believe I'm even saying any of this! It's unimaginable that that fucking bastard has put us in this situation." He pulled away and stared into Kyle's eyes, his own burning with new rage. "I swear to god I'll go to the police myself if I hear that Mark has hurt you again, in any way, shape, or form. Do you understand?"

Kyle nodded and kissed him again. He didn't have the heart to tell Stan that Mark would indeed hurt him again, he could pretty much guarantee it.

*****

Kyle stood at the shoreline, the water lapping around his ankles, and could only gaze out at the horizon; at the seabirds coasting on drifts of salty air, their calls getting lost in the roar of the waves. It was early evening and the sun was just sinking below the rim of the sea, staining the water periwinkle, orange, pink, and yellow. Clouds were catching fire as the brilliance of the sun's rays poured over them, and Kyle was just glad that another day was finally ending.

They'd been at the shore for a little over a week, and so far Mark had been on his best behavior; the very definition of a knight in shining armor. Their time had been spent on the beach, laying under the hot sun, and listening to the pounding waves as they ate away at the sand. When they'd waded into the cold, briny water for the first time Kyle had almost felt happy; the salt drying in his hair and leaving a crust in the curls.  
Amazingly, Mark seemed less angry at the beach, less inclined to brood or rage about everything. They'd share funnel cakes with strawberries as they strolled down the boardwalk, the boards sweltering under their sandals. One day they walked all the way to the end until they found a kite shop, and in the air they could see elaborate kites soaring, attached to the beach by heavy strings; a dragon, birds, an elaborate box design. They were a riot of colors against an endless summer sky, the ocean roaring in their ears as they leaned against the boardwalk wall separating it from the beach. Mark would reach over and take Kyle's hand gently, and Kyle would allow this, even though he secretly wished that he were sharing the experience with Stan instead of him.

Every morning when he woke up he would pull on a pair of swim trunks and a t shirt; he'd spray some sunblock on and then he and Mark would walk to the inlet and watch the sunrise. Early in the morning the only people on the boardwalk were joggers and overzealous tourists, maybe a few people heading to work; but for the most part, it was like they were in a world all their own. The seabirds would bob on the surface of the water, white splashes being shifted by the tides, and they'd look across the inlet to see the sun cresting over Assateague Island; where the wild horses lived. The world would light up in vivid strokes of orange and red and yellow, and Mark would breathe deeply of the salt air, all the while holding Kyle's hand in his own.

Then they would walk to their favorite breakfast spot, The Kitchen, where they would order coffee and french toast, and plan the rest of the day. By that time the boardwalk was usually coming to life, and under the bright blue sky they could see the rides starting up, the sun striking their bright shells and making them shine like hard candy. Tourists would be pulling into the large parking lot and preparing to storm the shops and amusement park, and beyond everything Kyle and Mark could see the stretch of white beach; colorful umbrellas popping open and throwing dark shade on the fine sand. Sometimes Rebecca would join them but mostly it was Kyle and Mark, and Kyle would often catch Rebecca gazing at him with sadness and pity; her hazel eyes bright with apology.

As far as Kyle knew, Mark had gone easy on Rebecca, and had opted to focus on Kyle's metamorphosis instead. He could only figure that he would get around to punishing his sister soon, but he couldn't be sure and he wasn't about to ask; he honestly didn't want to know the answer. For awhile, their days were spent in quiet monotony; every moment filled with the beach, the sun, the sea, and Mark's overwhelming need to be close to Kyle at all times. Mark's aunt and uncle were warm and welcoming, but Mark made it a point to keep Kyle separated as much as possible from them; mostly keeping Kyle to himself.

The quaint beach house was tucked away on a private stretch of beach not far from the boardwalk, and almost seemed to be cut off from the world; much like Mark's mansion back in South Park. Kyle had to give Mark credit for thinking of the perfect place to sequester him for the summer while he continued to break him down, slowly and surely. They shared a room on the bottom floor of the house, and the patio doors opened up right on the beach; the weathered boards cutting through the sand and sloping down toward the water. Tufts of sea grass poked through the sand, turning gold and dusky green in the relentless summer sun; pieces breaking off every now and then and getting stuck in the curtains because Mark had a habit of keeping the door open.

Mark still wanted to have sex every day, but he kept it simple and soft because now they were in much smaller quarters and someone else was always home. He'd brought along Kyle's collar and leash, as well as his other tools of the trade, but they'd yet to use them. Kyle could only figure that Mark was waiting for his opportunity, and he waited with rising anxiety for the other shoe to drop, because the honeymoon period never lasted long. He continued to stare out at the sun falling below the waterline completely now, and slowly the stars came out in droves, their brilliance rivaling the lights of the boardwalk that flashed in the nighttime; music pouring into the warm summer air.

Kyle jumped to feel a hand landing on his shoulder, and he turned to see Mark, smiling while the night winds tousled his hair.

"What are you doing out here?" Mark asked, brushing his hair out of his eyes; his eyes drifting upward toward the stars. "God, I wish I could've brought the telescope."

"I guess I was just thinking," Kyle replied. "Not about anything significant," he added, before Mark had a chance to ask.

"Oh, well, my aunt and uncle are getting ready to leave for the weekend. Remember, they're going to Philadelphia?"

Kyle's heart sank a little; he couldn't believe he'd forgotten. Apparently, Mark's aunt and uncle did quite a bit of traveling, so they were often away, but so far they'd stayed put; much to Kyle's relief. Their constant presence had been a saving grace as far as he was concerned.

"Come on, you should come say goodbye," Mark said, taking his hand. "After all, they were kind enough to let you stay too, right?" He grinned.

Kyle resisted the urge to snap that he would've much preferred to be in South Park for the summer, but he refrained. Mark wouldn't listen anyway. Instead, he allowed Mark to pull him into the house where his aunt and uncle were carrying suitcases into the foyer while making sure they weren't leaving anything behind. Mark's aunt, a petite blonde, smiled at Kyle when she saw him.

"There you are, dear," she said, picking up her purse from the table. "Wayne and I were hoping you'd make an appearance before we left. I have to say, you've been so nice to have around this summer." She glanced at Mark. "I've never seen Mark take to anyone like he has to you; I think that's just wonderful."

"I think so too," Mark said, and Kyle almost rolled his eyes at Mark's "sucking up to adults" voice. It was subtle, but if you knew him, you'd realize how fucking fake it was.

"Thank you," Kyle volunteered, trying to ignore Mark's smirk as he spoke. "It's been great being here."

"Do you have everything, Pam?" Mark's uncle Wayne asked, walking out of the bathroom and rubbing his hands together. "We need to get on the road if we're going to avoid rush hour. God, I hate driving in Philadelphia; it's always so congested."

"Yep, I think I'm just about ready to go," Pam replied, looking around at their belongings. She turned her eyes back to Mark. "Are you sure you'll be okay on your own, Mark? You know you, Kyle, and Rebecca could always come with us."

Mark waved a hand casually.

"That's okay, aunt Pam; I think we'll survive, promise." He grinned. "I hope you guys have fun. Don't party too hard, okay?"

Uncle Wayne scoffed. "We don't party anymore, Mark. Those days are long over, I assure you. Come on, Pam; let's get a move on."

"Well, okay," she replied, still looking unsure. She glanced over her shoulder as she picked up her bag. "You kids have fun, okay? Mark, you have our numbers if you need to call?"

"Yes," Mark replied, rolling his eyes, but the same charming smile still on his lips. "Now go, okay? You know how uncle Wayne is when he has to deal with traffic."

"Gosh, do I," she laughed, heading for the door. She stopped and blew a kiss to them while her husband opened the door, and after a moment they were gone, their footsteps fading away into the darkness still falling outside.

"So, what do you want to do?" Mark asked, glancing at Kyle.

Kyle shrugged, not too keen on giving his opinion. Mark always had the final say anyway, didn't he?

"Why don't we just keep it simple tonight, huh? Pizza and wine? And then we could sit on the beach or something? What do you think?"

"That sounds fine," Kyle replied, still on edge because Mark was being too fucking normal. Or maybe this was just who he was when he was away from home? Who even knew? "Where's Rebecca, by the way?"

"Oh, I think she's out with some girls she met on the beach when we first got here," Mark said, waving his hand dismissively. "She probably won't be back for hours."

Awhile later, after they'd already ordered pizza and eaten it at the kitchen table, Kyle and Mark were sitting on the beach, glasses of pinot noir in their hands. The sky loomed above them dark and studded with stars, and for a moment Kyle was at peace; maybe Mark would point out new constellations for him and tell him their stories. The waves crashed against the shore, the sand disintegrating as the tide came in, and chilly air wrapped around them, putting a faint feeling of moisture in their clothes. Mark had brought his phone with him and was softly playing Les Miserables in the background, because Kyle had once told him it was his favorite musical.

"You know, I think you'd be Jean Valjean, if I had to pick a character for you to be from Les Miz," Mark said, idly, finishing the bit of wine in his glass. "You seem to have an unfailing sense of right and wrong, and you always want to do whatever you can to help other people."

"Hmm," Kyle replied, toying with his own wine glass. He hadn't really wanted to drink but Mark had insisted. He also wanted to tell Mark that he'd royally fucked himself over by wanting to help people, but of course he didn't. "I'm not sure who you'd be, honestly."

"Oh, I wouldn't be your foil, Javert?" Mark teased, tipping more wine into his glass.

Kyle shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I mean, you seem to see things in terms of black and white like Javert did, but he also had a rigid moral code."

"And I don't?"

"No, not at all," Kyle replied, honestly. "I guess if you were going to be anything in Les Miserables, you wouldn't be a character. You'd be the backdrop of the story; you know, public unrest and the fire in people that makes them want to go to war."

"You talk about me like I'm just the living embodiment of anarchy or something," Mark said, taking another drink.

"Aren't you? It's not like you play by society's rules, Mark. You pretty much do whatever you want, whenever you want."

"And you don't?" Mark asked, and the tone of his voice made Kyle take pause. Slowly, he looked at him, his hand clenching in the sand.

"What do you mean?"

"I know you went to see Stan before we left for the beach, Kyle. I've known all along."

Kyle started, nearly tipping his glass of wine over. His hand gripped the sand harder as his heart started racing frantically.

"How did -"

"Phone trackers are amazing things, aren't they?" Mark asked, sipping his wine slowly. "All I had to do was download a tracking app on your phone and voila, now I know where Kyle is at all times. It's so convenient."

Kyle tried to swallow but now his mouth was so dry there was no moisture to work with. His throat felt constricted and he coughed, trying to open it up a little.

"I only went over to his house to talk to him, Mark. It was right after my mom told me I'd be spending the summer with you, and I just -"

"You just needed to get one last fuck in before you went away, I understand," Mark said, setting his glass aside and standing up. "Come on, let's go into the house." He held out his hand to Kyle.

Fresh terror was coursing through Kyle now, and his hand trembled as he took Mark's.

"Stan and I didn't have sex," he said. It was true, Kyle had spent the night with Stan but he'd only held him close; they hadn't done anything more than that because he'd still been in so much pain. "We just talked, I promise."

"Yeah, you talked for like 10 hours, right," Mark replied, pulling Kyle toward the house. He pulled open the patio doors and they stepped inside, the sound of the pulsing ocean seeming like it was ten million miles away. Letting go of Kyle's hand, he went to his suitcase and flipped it open, and when he withdrew the collar and leash Kyle blanched and tried to make a break for the door.

Before he could escape, Mark had come up behind Kyle and slammed the door shut, his hand pressing on the wood and his lips right next to Kyle's ear when he spoke next.

"You aren't going anywhere, Kyle; not until we're done. Now, take off your clothes and get on your knees like a good boy, okay?"

*****

When Kyle came to hours later the moonlight was pouring through the windows like pearly cream, and he groaned as he shifted his head on the mattress; Mark's arm draped across him and weighing him down. Every part of his body was in agony, and the skin that had healed during his brief respite would soon be covered in even more bruises and welts; of this he had no doubt. Mark had been calm and deliberate while he punished Kyle this time, but that didn't mean he had showed any gentility or mercy.

Kyle could taste blood in his mouth as he swallowed some saliva resting on his tongue, and he slowly tried to inch away from Mark; praying he wouldn't wake up and want to go for round two. Amazingly, Mark coughed in his sleep and rolled away, and when he did he exposed his back, and Kyle's eyes fell on his horrible scars again, but he immediately looked for the faint smaller scar near Mark's lower back. Leaning forward and hoping against hope that Mark wouldn't stir, Kyle found it, and in the glimmering, caustic moonlight he was able to see that it did indeed look like a letter; in fact, it almost looked like a perfect "D."

He tried to be as quiet as possible as he moved toward the edge of the bed, and with every moment that passed Kyle focused on Mark's breaths, but they remained as steady as the waves rushing into the shore. After what felt like hours, Kyle finally made it to the edge, and as slowly and carefully as possible he swung his legs over the side and sat up, his feet pressed flat against the carpet; the scratchy fibers tickling his skin. Closing his eyes, he pressed down and stood up, fully expecting that at any moment Mark would wake up and grab him by the throat; throwing him back onto the mattress so he could brutalize him again.

Slowly, Kyle tiptoed across the floor, his body screaming at him to be still and his head aching terribly, but he didn't stop. He made it through the door and down the hallway, where he closed himself into the guest bathroom and turned on the light, wincing when he saw his reflection in the glass. Mark had used the belt on him again, and the lashes were burgeoning in his flesh, violet and blue shadows still in the process of bleeding across his skin in angry crisscrosses. Fingermarks were torn into his flesh, and oozing bite marks raced up and down his torso, streams of pinkish blood lining his white skin.

Kyle's fingertips came to rest on the collar still circling his throat, and he saw that his bottom lip was full and split where Mark had backhanded him. Now he knew that Mark had held off on punishing him until his aunt and uncle had left, and that all of the kindness he'd been shown up until that point was a lie; it had to be. Kyle shook with fear because Mark had seemed so calm, so happy, but really, he'd been simmering with ugly rage almost the whole time they'd been at the beach. Maybe he'd had moments of genuine pleasure, but Kyle doubted it; how could he when he'd been capable of punishing Kyle like this?

He'd tried to explain that he hadn't done anything with Stan, but Mark just wouldn't listen. He had convinced himself that he knew the truth, and nothing Kyle could say would ever make a difference. Mark just kept repeating that Kyle needed to learn, and that he belonged to him, and he was going to break him, burn him, until he accepted that fact; until the truth was written on his bones and painted in his blood. After he had finished, and his come was streaking down Kyle's thighs along with his blood, Mark had held Kyle tight and told him he loved him; that he'd always love him and that he did what he did because he had to. Really, there was no other way and sometimes people had to suffer in order to be led to the truth.

Kyle couldn't help but start to sob as the hellish days stretched before him. Days filled with fear and pain and punishments; nights filled with blood and tearful kisses and confessions of obsessive love. He could feel himself breaking down more and more, and every moment he seemed to be getting closer to just falling apart completely and admitting that he belonged to Mark, body and soul. He still couldn't bring himself to say it even though his punishments lasted longer when he refused, but he just couldn't. Kyle wanted to belong to Stan, wanted to be back in the warmth of his arms, but at moments like this he felt further away than ever.

He continued to cry hot tears until a small tap at the door startled him into complete silence, his eyes wide as they flashed to the door. Had Mark woken up and noticed he was gone? Oh, God, what was he going to do?

"Kyle? Kyle, is that you?" A soft voice called out into the night, and Kyle sagged with relief when he realized it was Rebecca. Hurriedly, he opened the door and she stepped inside, closing it quietly behind herself. She gasped when she saw the state Kyle was in, and quick tears flooded her eyes.

"Oh, my God, Kyle," she whispered, pressing her hand to her mouth. "What did Mark do to you?" Her fingers drifted to his arm and he recoiled.

"Don't, please," he said, softly. "It hurts too much."

"Oh, Kyle, I'm so sorry," Rebecca said, tears falling down her face in droves. "I never knew he was capable of this, if I'd known -"

Kyle held up his hand, trying to smile.

"I still would've helped you, Rebecca. Okay? So, don't blame yourself. I walked into the fire willingly, so now I have to get myself out, don't I?"

Rebecca just sighed and leaned down to open a cabinet. She pulled out a first aid kit and opened it, starting to pluck out supplies; gauze, peroxide, band aids. Without a word, she went to work repairing the damage her brother had done to Kyle.

"What are you going to do?" She asked, dabbing at one of the bite marks with peroxide. "You can't go on this way, Kyle. It doesn't seem like Mark can really control himself at this point; I've never seen him act this way before."

"I guess I just bring out the worst in him," Kyle said, wryly. He sniffed, trying to stop himself from crying again. "I still don't understand why he's so dead set on me, Rebecca. Does it make any sense to you?"

She shook her head while continuing to sooth Kyle's wounds.

"I don't know, Kyle," she murmured. "You make him happy, at least that's what he told me. You make him feel whole and, gosh, what was the word he used? Purified, that's it. Maybe being near you makes him better able to accept his shortcomings or something. Still, I can't believe he'd hurt you like this. He's turning into a monster."

"Rebecca, he's always been a monster," Kyle said, softly. "This didn't just happen overnight."

"That isn't true!" Rebecca replied, her eyes narrowed. "When we were kids Mark was the kindest, gentlest boy you'd ever hope to meet. It wasn't until we moved to Maryland and we fell in with that group that he started to change."

Kyle thought of something then, and a rush of excitement overtook him.

"Rebecca, Mark told me about the guy that trained him or whatever when you guys lived in Baltimore. You know what I'm talking about?"

"Yes," she replied slowly, her face guarded and suspicious. "I think I know what you're talking about. What did he tell you, exactly?"

Kyle looked down, suddenly feeling awkward.

"Just that you kind of got into some trouble, and he -"

"Took my place," Rebecca cut him off, her voice bitter. "Yes, Mark saved me, Kyle. He's always saving me, isn't he?"

Kyle licked his lips, which were suddenly dry, his heartbeat picking up speed.

"Do you remember his name? I'm starting to think he's the only person that can help me, because Mark still seems like he's afraid of him. I've never seen him afraid of anyone, so I need to talk to this guy. Maybe he could tell me what Mark's Achilles heal is or something." He thought a moment, remembering the 'D' shaped scar on Mark's lower back. "Does his name start with a D?"

Rebecca's eyes widened at the question and she looked away, starting to gather up the first aid supplies.

"Kyle, you don't want to get tangled up with that guy. He's scary," she said, her voice shaky and hushed. "Seriously, he still scares me and I haven't seen him in years. Mark never really went into detail about the things he did to him, but trust me, it was bad."

"And how is my situation any different?" Kyle asked as he opened his arms, showcasing the multitude of injuring Mark had inflicted on him. "Rebecca, I need your help. Your brother could just completely lose it one day and kill me. Please!"

She thought a moment, her eyes still filled with fear, even as she gazed at Kyle's wrecked flesh. Finally, she sighed.

"I might still have his number, or I might know someone who has it," she said in a defeated tone.

"That's great!" Kyle said, almost wanting to cry from relief. "What's his name?"

Rebecca bit her bottom lip and some of the color drained from her face before she answered. Finally, in a shuddering voice she spoke into the silence of the bathroom.

"Damien," she whispered. "Damien Thorn."


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING - ABUSE! VIOLENCE! RAPE! EVERYTHING! READER DISCRETION IS STRONGLY ADVISED, OKAY?
> 
> We're in the homestretch now, everybody, and I promise that Kyle will be delivered from evil (for the most part). I hope everyone enjoys the story. I'm well aware that I'm exploring dark themes and the subject matter is not for everyone (and that's totally ok) but don't read and leave asshole comments bc you didn't look before you leapt - you've been warned. 
> 
> Also, to the anonymous comment-er who so eloquently left 'kys' - verily, I say unto you that I must decline, but by all means, you go ahead. :) 
> 
> PS: Mark, get some fucking therapy already, ok? xD

>   **“Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable — if anything is excellent or praiseworthy — think about such things and the God of peace will be with you” (Philippians 4:8).**
> 
> **“Put off your old self which belongs to your former manner of life which is corrupt through deceitful desires.” (Ephesians 4:22)  
>    
>  **

* * *

 

Mark's eyes flickered open, the sound of the distant waves pulsing in his ears, and already he could feel a dull rage building. It was alive inside of him like a flame slowly growing, and he didn't have any idea why it hadn't disappeared after the events of the previous night. He'd punished Kyle thoroughly; put him through his paces, so why did he still feel so out of sorts?

Was it because he couldn't be sure that Kyle hadn't fucked Stan before he'd had the chance to separate them? Kyle had insisted that nothing happened but what difference did that make? He'd say anything to save his ass if it meant avoiding further punishment; anything besides admitting that he belonged to Mark completely, of course.

Mark glanced over at Kyle who continued to snore softly, his red curls splashed across his pillow in dramatic waves. An acute tenderness struck him at the sight of that serene, sleeping face, even as his hands clenched into fists and the desire to bring him in line flooded through him. Moisture filled his mouth and arousal was rushing in as he reached for him, when Mark's eyes fell on a bandage wrapped around one of Kyle's slender bruise-covered arms. Suddenly, the tenderness fled and the rage was fully alive, Mark's hand gripping Kyle's skin and squeezing until he burst awake with a cry.

"What the fuck is this?" He seethed, shaking Kyle's arm; feeling the delicate bones being crushed under his fingers. "Did I tell you you could nurse your fucking wounds, Kyle? You're supposed to be learning a lesson, not practicing your first aid skills."

Kyle seemed to still be caught in the last vestiges of waking up, but that didn't deter him from pulling his arm back, even though Mark's held on with hungry ferocity.

"I'm not going to ask for permission to put antiseptic on your disgusting bite marks," he spat. "You said yourself that the human mouth is filthy. What? Do you want me to get sick?"

"No, but I do want you to fucking remember your place in all of this," Mark snapped, white hot fury bubbling up. "Besides, where did you even find bandages and shit? Were you just snooping through the bathroom or what?"

"No, of course not, I -" Kyle stopped abruptly, fear filling his eyes even though anger still remained. He turned away, grimacing as Mark continued to squeeze his arm. "Can't you just let this go, Mark? Why does everything have to be a battle?"

"Because you constantly have to go against me, or just flat out defy me, Kyle," Mark sneered. "What were you going to say, huh? How did you find this stuff? Tell me."

"No," Kyle said, softly. "Just let it go. I wouldn't even need to nurse any wounds if you'd just stop hurting me."

"I wouldn't need to hurt you if you'd stop fucking going behind my back to your goddamn watchdog."

Kyle looked over his shoulder, eyes wide with confusion.

"Watchdog? Are you talking about Stan?" He winced as Mark's nails dug into his skin. "Stan is my best friend, Mark; he isn't my watchdog. I love him more than anything in the whole world, and he'd never, ever treat me like this. Besides, I already told you we didn't do anything, I just needed to talk to someone who wouldn't threaten me constantly."

Mark snorted and pulled Kyle onto his back, his hand slipping from around his arm and down to his wrist, his other hand wrapping around Kyle's other forearm; fingers sinking into a freshly-forming bruise. He whimpered pitifully when Mark pushed him into the mattress and held him down, his fingers winding tightly.

"I think you kind of like it when you piss me off, Kyle," Mark smirked. "It gets you going. Why else would you continue to disobey?"

Kyle's green eyes snapped at these words, little glimmers of rage pulsing. "Regardless of what you think, I am not just a dog that you can order around and beat into submission, you son of a bitch. I'm a fucking person."

"I'll decide what you are," Mark replied, mildly. "And when you sneak around to see that fucking idiot I can only assume you're a come slut, just begging to be fucked. In fact..." he trailed off, a new idea occurring to him; the excitement of it saturating him with desire. He gazed into Kyle's eyes as inspiration overcame him.

"What?" Kyle finally asked, a little shake in his voice.

"Beg for it," Mark said, simply. "If you do, I won't punish you for taking it upon yourself to lick your wounds."

"Beg for -" Kyle broke off, understanding filling his eyes. Momentary fright could be seen on the flipside of his anger, but it dissipated quickly. "Never. I'm not going to beg you to rape me, Mark."

"Rape, right," Mark said, rolling his eyes. He leaned forward to kiss Kyle's throat, his sleepy smell filling up his senses and almost calming him for a moment. "As if this could ever be considered rape when you seem to enjoy what I do to you so much."

"I may have enjoyed having sex with you in the beginning, Mark, but those days are over," Kyle said, his eyes narrowing. "Ever since you basically started blackmailing me, every time you've touched me, you were raping me; every fucking time."

"Whatever," Mark replied, still kissing Kyle's neck; his lips coming to rest on his clavicle. "Your body tells me otherwise, and I'm pretty sure you don't care who's fucking you as long as you're getting cock. Why else would you go to Stan when you have me?" He smirked, his grip on Kyle's wrists tightening until a cry tore out of his throat. "Little slut."

"I told you not to talk to me like that!" Kyle yelled.

"And I told you that you don't fucking make the rules!" Mark responded, his voice becoming even louder than Kyle's. How dare he fucking raise his voice, especially when he'd lied and gone behind his back. Where the fuck did he get his nerve? "Now beg me to fuck you and I won't give you another reason to go snooping through the bathroom for bandages and peroxide!"

"No! You can beat the shit out of me and I'll never do that! Never!" Kyle turned his face away, small tears gathering in his eyes. "You won't break me, Mark. You can hurt me but that won't make a difference; I'll just continue to fight."

"Fine, if you want to play hardball." Mark let go of one of Kyle's wrists, his hand sliding up to wrap around his throat, his grip increasing steadily; little by little cutting off his air supply. Kyle's mouth opened as he struggled for breath, his eyes widening and filling with potent fear that sent a thrill through Mark's bloodstream. He'd tried to have a soft touch with Kyle for awhile, but clearly force was the only thing that could break through to him; complete and utter control and domination. He continued to press on Kyle's throat, his pleading, terrified face only serving to feed Mark's growing arousal. Kyle's free hand came up to claw at Mark's, but to no avail.

A tiny knock at the door broke through the red rage saturating Mark's mind and managed to destroy the spell being woven; Kyle's eyes bulging with relief as he gasped for breath when his hand unclenched a little.

"What?" He yelled, still staring into Kyle's flushed and terrified face.

The door opened and Rebecca stuck her head in, a tray in her hands.

"I got up earlier than usual and made some breakfast," she said, her eyes traveling over the scene before her; no doubt seeing Kyle's look of terror and hearing his ragged breaths breaking the tension in the room. "I thought you two might want some."

Mark glanced at Kyle, a new idea coming to him now. Yes, it would be perfect; tighten the fucking screws and make him learn.

"I would, but Kyle's going to have to pass."

Kyle coughed and spoke, his voice hoarse.

"I'm hungry, too." He looked at Rebecca, deliberately defying Mark - again. "What'd you make?"

Mark reluctantly let go of Kyle and slid from the bed to walk across the room to his sister. Delicately, he took the tray from her hands and placed it on the dresser. He looked at her and she flinched a little, stepping back.

"You can leave now," he said. "I need to discuss something with Kyle."

"Oh, okay," she said, glancing around him to look at Kyle; her eyes awash with concern and pity. "Kyle, are you feeling alright? Did you need me to bring you anything from -"

"I told you to get out, Becky," Mark seethed. "Mind your own fucking business. Do you understand?"

She nodded, her eyes widening with fear at his abrupt tone.

"And you aren't to bring Kyle anything, got it? Food, bandages; anything. If you do, you'll regret it. Is that clear?"

She dipped her head again, her long curls trailing over her face. A little sniffle broke from her and in a flash she was gone, the door snapping behind her. Mark turned back to regard Kyle, who was huddling in the blankets; faint tremors breaking across his body.

"She won't be helping you anymore, Kyle," Mark said, a feeling of calm passing over him now that he had a plan. "So, don't try to manipulate her going forward; you'll only be hurting Becky, and I'm sure you don't want that." He smiled and turned to the food Rebecca had brought, rubbing his hands. "What do we have here?"

Coming over to the food, he saw that Rebecca had prepared two plates, each piled high with pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon. Two cups of steaming, fragrant coffee also sat on the tray, both a creamy brown.

"Wow, Becky really outdid herself," he said, glancing over at Kyle. Kyle just glared at him, his face still flushed. "You're hungry, huh?"

Kyle nodded slowly, the covers still clutched to his chin.

"That's too bad, isn't it, because this all looks amazing."

A strangled sound came out of Kyle's throat as he watched Mark pick up a cup of coffee and take a long sip, his eyes closing for a moment in pure satisfaction.

"Why are you doing this?" Kyle asked, his voice almost a whisper. "Are you really going to starve me now? That's sick even for you."

"You want to add mouthing off to your history of cheating, Kyle? That isn't very smart." Mark picked up a piece of bacon and popped it in his mouth, making a big display of how good it tasted. "Jesus, Becky always knew her way around breakfast foods."

"Mark, you already punished me for seeing Stan," Kyle said, his voice breaking a little. "Why are you taking this so far?"

Mark brought his hand down on the dresser suddenly, making Kyle and the breakfast dishes jump.

"Kyle, you've proven time and time again that you're only going through the motions here; obeying when the situation suits you." Mark turned to him. "Playtime is over, okay? The very fact that you went to see Stan again and allowed Becky to patch you up without my permission proves that you still think you have some freedom here. You don't, and now I'm going to drive the point home." He shrugged and took another sip of coffee.

"But you can't just starve me forever, Mark."

"Oh, I won't. You'll just go without food until you beg me to fuck you." Mark cut off a smidgen of pancake and speared it with a fork. He placed it in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, thumping the fork against the plate in a methodical manner. "In fact, let's up the ante here. You'll go without food and water until you beg me to fuck you, and you also have to admit that you belong to me." He glanced at Kyle, smirking. "How does that sound?"

"I think it sounds like you've managed to make yourself even more detestable, and I didn't even think that was possible at this point," Kyle replied, his voice positively acidic. Mark had to fight back a laugh at the sound. "This won't change a fucking thing. I'll never cave about this."

"We'll see," Mark replied, taking a bite of eggs. "Everyone has their breaking point, Kyle. I'll be interested to see how far we need to go to find yours."

"But, why?" Kyle asked, looking at the food. "You keep saying you love me and adore me; why do you want me to suffer? Why do you have to fuck with my head and be nice and then turn around and treat me like this? None of this makes any sense."

"Because at the end of the day I do love you and I do want to be nice, but we also have to rewire you, Kyle," Mark replied, simply. "The Kyle I desire will know to ask for permission in all things. The Kyle I want would never want to go behind my back; he'd want to make me happy by obeying and listening. You have an innate need to please and submit. We just need to bring that out."

"Don't you care that all of this just makes me hate you more? Don't you want me to love you?"

"You do love me, Kyle. You've told me before that you do, and I don't think for one moment that that's changed. You just don't like being taken to task for misbehaving. Don't confuse petulance with hatred."

"I'm not, I promise you," Kyle replied, darkly. He stood, the blanket wrapped around him and trailing across the floor; the only thing he had on was his collar. The sight of him going to stand at the window and gaze at the fog rolling in across the sea was enough to make Mark's mouth water again.

"Just so you know, I'll be fucking you even if you don't beg for it," he said. "You just won't get any food or water until you give in."

Kyle glanced over his shoulder, the early morning muted sunlight catching his hair and making it flame.

"I'll never give in, Mark."

*****

For the first two days Kyle was okay. Sure, his stomach growled constantly and when his blood sugar dropped he became tired and couldn't think straight, but he could live with it; but by the third day, he had to admit that he couldn't keep up the charade for very much longer. It wasn't lack of food that was raking him over the coals, it was going without water. Mark had to have known that going without water was much worse than going without food, because he made sure to monitor Kyle every moment. He couldn't go to the bathroom or bathe without Mark present, and once when he was able to catch a mouthful of water in the shower, Mark had quickly slapped him across the face for daring to rebel.

By the end of the fourth day, Kyle was so weak that even thinking was a struggle, and the pain in his stomach was like dull teeth chewing on him constantly. He felt cold and lethargic, barely even able to to hold onto a coherent thought, and all he could do was lay on the bed, moaning and trying to keep as still as possible. By this point he was barely urinating and he couldn't even muster up the energy to fight Mark when he wanted to have sex; opting instead to lay back and listlessly watch the ceiling as Mark thrust into him, his hands clenched around his wrists and Kyle's legs draped over his shoulders.

"You're so quiet, baby," he murmured against Kyle's ear, his hot breath curling against his neck and making him wince.

Frantically, he would try to conjure up memories of Stan to ward off the darkness but in his weakened state he didn't have the energy to think clearly. His mind clouded over and it was like wading through water to push words through his lips or create thoughts. After awhile, Kyle was so exhausted and incoherent that he didn't have the strength to sit up and Mark explained away his fatigue to his family by telling them he had a cold and needed to rest. Mark completely isolated him and pretty soon Kyle was in bed almost all day everyday, the sounds of the sea crashing outside but becoming muffled in his starved state of mind.

The morning of the fifth day Kyle woke up blearily, his heartbeat racing in his chest and feeling so cold it was like being coated in ice. With the last of his strength he reached out a hand to Mark and brushed his arm, the action almost making him have to gasp for breath. A watery noise emanated from his throat, and after having to try two or three times, he was finally able to rouse Mark; his throat and voice raspy from lack of water. Mark opened his eyes and turned his head, frowning against the early morning sunlight; regarding Kyle quietly.

"Please...," Kyle rasped, his eyes pleading. "Water..." His voice cut off when his throat closed up a little, hitching from dryness. For a moment Kyle thought he was going to choke, and he looked at Mark desperately, his hand flopping onto his throat where the collar had remained for the last five days of his punishment.

Mark almost looked remorseful for a moment, but when he sat up and gazed down at Kyle he shook his head; almost regretfully.

"Kyle, you know the deal," he said, softly. "Tell me what I need to hear."

Kyle would've started crying if he had the strength, or even the ability to produce tears anymore. His body was wracked with weariness and pain, and his head was a jumble of confusion and fear; he just wanted to close his eyes and never wake up. Mark had saddled him with an impossible choice but he knew he needed to make a decision, and any direction he chose would lead him down a path studded with thorns and shadows. He shook his head and looked up at Mark, his eyes begging for mercy. Mark reached out a hand and gently cradled Kyle's face, making him moan and try to turn away.

"Just say it, Kyle, and I'll go to the kitchen right now and bring you anything you want. I promise." His thumb passed over Kyle's cracked bottom lip. "But, if you say that you're mine, you're going to have to mean it. If you say it only to get yourself out of this mess and then renege, I promise you your next punishment will be worse." A look of grotesque sadness passed over his face. "Don't test me, Kyle. I'll win every time, and you'll just continue to lose. Is that what you want?"

His words caused another crack to splinter across Kyle's already tortured mind, and he couldn't remember ever being so exhausted or so desperately afraid and hopeless. He knew Mark was right, and that he didn't have a prayer of winning, but he still didn't want to give in; how could he? He'd tried to sneak food a few times, had even managed to find a small bag of pretzels that he'd saved from the plane ride, but Mark had caught him every time, and every act of rebellion had been met with swift retaliation; brutal and cruel. Kyle couldn't seem to hide or slip by him in anything, and it was truly like Mark was everywhere; always waiting and always watching.

The thing that terrified Kyle above all else was the fact that Mark seemed content to watch him starve himself until he wasted away; until he completely broke down from thirst. He'd watch Kyle as the days passed and saw him start to falter, slowly at first, and as time wore on he'd started to break apart quicker and quicker. His dark eyes became voids that were resolute with determination to prevail, to crush Kyle under the wheel until he screamed for mercy, and not once did he seem willing to compromise; if anything, his resolve became stronger as Kyle progressively splintered into pieces.

For the briefest of moments, Kyle almost decided that it would be better if he died, because surely death was better than dealing with Mark's atrocities, but he quickly pushed that thought away. He didn't want to die, certainly not like this, and certainly not at the hands of someone as reprehensible as Mark. No, he'd have to give in, and even though it would destroy his pride Kyle knew that he needed to save his body at the very least. Mark had said that he needed to mean what he said, but there was no way for him to know that Kyle was lying; Mark had the power to see so much but there was no way for him to see into his heart. There were lands he could never explore, and that was one of them.

Kyle gasped out a labored breath, his heart thudding madly in his chest, and struggled to sit up; not wanting to be lying on his back when he exposed his belly to Mark in the worst of ways. Mark just shook his head and laid a hand on Kyle's forehead.

"Don't try to move too much, Kyle," he said. "You need to be still."

Kyle wanted so desperately to cry and escape that horrible room; escape Mark and his darkness, but he knew he was done. He regretted being so adamant about not caving to Mark's cruelty, because it made it ten times worse when he spoke next, the words straining from his mouth; their content cutting his soul into tiny pieces that bled.

"I-I'm y-yours," Kyle managed to say, closing his eyes against the pain and humiliation. After a moment, he felt Mark's hand disappearing from his forehead and then it was gripping his chin softly. Kyle opened his eyes to see Mark smiling, but it was a smile devoid of maliciousness; rather, it was a smile of what could almost be considered unbridled joy.

"And?" He asked, his eyes tender.

A dry sob broke from Kyle's throat, and once again his eyes, his entire being, begged for leniency. Mark's eyes only darkened and his hold on Kyle's chin tightened.

"Say it, Kyle."

Kyle tried to strain away from Mark's grasp but he was weak as a kitten, and after crying without tears for a moment, he gasped out what Mark wanted to hear, his heart and brain shattering into a million pieces.

"F-fuck me."

"You can be more polite than that, Kyle," Mark said, tugging on a curl languidly. "What's the magic word?"

Kyle could feel all of the fight draining out of him at this point, and he didn't even recognize his voice when he spoke.

"Please," he whispered.

"I thought you'd never ask," Mark smiled, draping his body over top of Kyle's, his aching skin frigid and quaking as he felt his hips being raised and his legs draped over Mark's forearms; preparing him.

"W-water," Kyle choked out, straining away.

"All things in due time," Mark murmured, nuzzling his neck. "I've been waiting for this for too long, and I want to savor the moment."

*******

"Come," Mark said, pulling softly on Kyle's leash. In a display too beautiful for words, Kyle obeyed immediately, crawling over on his hands and knees, his gorgeous white skin dewy and fresh after a bath. The moonlight pouring through the patio doors illuminated his blood red hair, silvering the curls and turning him into a work of art. He came and sat next to Mark, resting his head against his leg and gazing down at the floor, his posture slumped and calm. Mark reached out a hand and ran it through Kyle's hair, his touch gentle and filled with so much love it was almost painful.

It had been a week since Kyle's bout of starvation, his desperate power play, and Mark couldn't be happier about the change in his demeanor. The old fire was there on occasion, but for the most part he obeyed; his manner subdued and compliant. Mark's eyes raked over his body, admiring Kyle's thinness, and he was glad that his appetite hadn't returned full force. Mark liked seeing Kyle's bones, the way his skin stretched over their delicacy; he enjoyed how fragile his Kyle had become, in spirit and in his physical state. He looked so woebegone, so slight, it was almost like Mark could sweep him away with one hand if he chose, and more than ever he knew that Kyle was in his pocket, where he'd remain.

The sex was indescribable, too. Kyle folded into Mark's arms like he was born to be in them, and when he slid into his tight, overwhelming heat he almost thought he'd melt away. Kyle's throaty little gasps were symphonies written just for him, and more than ever he could barely keep from touching him, his wondrous creation; the tiny redhead built solely for Mark's designs. Kyle still fought at times, but more often than not Mark would give the word and Kyle would present himself almost like he was meant to be taken on a silver platter; ready for the feast. He'd bathe himself in pure water and spicy soaps and Mark would devour him, clean and purified and new; under the sunlight in the middle of the day and under the harsh remoteness of moonlight. Mark was always ready to have another taste of his Kyle, his one and only true love.

True, he could see the wild heat in Kyle's eyes, the part of himself that would probably never be tamed, but he didn't worry about it. All Mark had to do was move abruptly or snap his fingers to make Kyle sit up with fearful eyes. Sometimes he would still cover Kyle with bites during sex even if he'd been behaving beautifully, just to remind the redhead who was in charge, and that he always would be. The true breakdown was a continual process, of course, but rebirth took time; the field had to smolder slowly if it was ever going to bear the purest fruit again, but Mark was in this for the long run. He was nothing if not diligent when it came to the object of his desire; molding it, tweaking it, creating it from practically nothing.

Mark lazily ran a finger down Kyle's cheek, stroking him lovingly as he sat next to the open patio door, the sea air ruffling his hair and brushing his skin.

"Who do you belong to?" He asked, completely at peace with himself and the world.

A slow intake of breath and a swallow, and then the parting of pink lips:

"You," Kyle replied, his voice soft.

"Yes, you do, don't you?" He sighed, and rose from his chair. Pulling Kyle by his leash he led him to the bed and instructed him to lay down and hold onto the headboard. In a moment, Mark was inside Kyle and he could've cried at the exquisite delight that engulfed his body at the sensation of being fully immersed in his treasure. He was right on the brink of coming when Kyle gasped out a word that made Mark freeze, his hackles rising and his blood boiling furiously. He gripped Kyle's throat, the murderous rage raising its head; a monster with eyes like caverns and snarling, jagged teeth.

"What did you say?" He seethed, thrusting into Kyle savagely, making him whimper.

"Nothing," Kyle moaned, trying to pull his neck away from Mark's grasp.

Mark's hand squeezed tighter, making Kyle gasp but still leaving him with enough air to speak.

"Tell me the fucking truth," Mark snarled. "Now what did you say?" He shook Kyle until he was crying.

"Stan," he sobbed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!" He dared to cover his eyes with his hands, just serving to invite more of Mark's ire.

Mark ripped Kyle's hands away from his face, holding his wrists and pressing him down into the mattress; pure, unbridled fury tipping his mind into near insanity. Even after all of this he was still thinking of Stan? Calling out his name while Mark was inside of him, fucking him? Where did he get his fucking nerve? He'd had enough; it was time to end this bullshit once and for all. The roots went too deep; time to fucking rip them out and burn them completely.

Mark continued to fuck Kyle but now he was savage, rough, thrusting into him until he was pleading for him to stop; bite marks and bruises blooming on his skin as Mark taught him his lesson. You will obey, you will listen, you will learn; that's what these wounds spelled out; every drop of blood and contusion leading him to the truth. Finally he came, spilling every ounce into Kyle's gasping body, the heat burning through them both, the sensation making Mark sigh and Kyle gasp. He ignored Kyle's trembling weariness and pulled out, leaving him to shudder and watch from his place on the bed, Mark's come leaking out of him to stain the sheets. He cleaned himself off and pulled on a pair of boxers and jeans, his eyes full of daggers when they came to rest on Kyle who was regarding him with wide, fearful eyes.

Mark shook out a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and went to the open door, lighting up and sucking some smoke into his lungs. He blew it out slowly and tried to calm down, but he couldn't; there was no way he could. Kyle was still thinking about Stan, probably dreaming and yearning for him, and Mark just had to sit back and swallow it. He could barely stand it. He glanced at Kyle and tried to sound casual when he spoke, smoke escaping his mouth and filtering into the salty air.

"Did I ever tell you about my grandfather's collection, Kyle?"

Kyle's voice was faint when he answered, small and childlike.

"No, you didn't."

"Well, my grandfather was very into hunting," Mark said, taking another drag on his cigarette. "So, what do you think he collected most?"

Kyle sat up, the collar and leash black as midnight against his moon-washed flesh.

"I'm not sure," he said, slowly, but something in his voice told Mark that he knew the answer even as he tried to play dumb.

"Guns, Kyle," Mark replied, flicking some ash away. "All types. And do you know what the most interesting part about them is? Hmm?"

Kyle just shook his head, his hands clutching at the blankets.

"My grandfather dabbled on the black market, and a lot of his guns were obtained that way. Do you know what that means?"

Silence. Utter silence.

"The guns aren't registered, not to anyone in this country anyway, so if one of them was used to, I don't know, kill someone," he snickered, "well, the police would have a very hard time tracing the bullet back to the owner, wouldn't they?" He stubbed out the cigarette. "And grandfather was smart; he always made his gun purchases in cash. No paper trail."

"Why would your grandfather buy guns from the black market?" Kyle asked, his voice low.

"In many respects my grandfather was a wonderful man, Kyle; kind and giving. But he had another side, too. Remember how I told you a lot of doctors had God complexes? How do you think I came to learn that?"

"Mark, you're scaring me."

Mark flicked the cigarette away, it's tip still blazing cherry red.

"You're not the person that should be afraid, Kyle." He turned and smiled at him, sterile moonlight glazing his hair and falling over his face, his naked chest. "No, the person that should be afraid is Stan. Don't you think?"

*****

Kyle woke from a monstrous, ghastly dream, sobbing and clawing the blankets away; the sensation of being smothered making him suck in lungfuls of air. Frantically, he looked around, but all he could see was the moonlight and Mark sleeping beside him; his face relaxed and smooth. You'd never know how evil he was when he was awake if you saw him asleep; the angel with blood-soaked fangs. Kyle shuddered and slid from the bed as quietly as possible. He needed a drink of water; he needed to be away from Mark and his poison. Kyle felt like he was choking every second of every day; the sensation only worsening after he'd broken down and sacrificed himself to Mark's whims.

He stole into the hallway on light and silent feet after slipping on a pair of boxers, praying fervently that Mark wouldn't wake up and beat him. After he'd stupidly said Stan's name while Mark was fucking him he'd been calm for awhile, but finally he'd broken and the violence had been unimaginable. Kyle could almost hear his bones creaking and begging for respite, his skin wrecked and covered over with carnage; he wasn't sure how much longer he could possibly last. How had Rebecca survived all these years? His hand came to rest on his collar and he couldn't help but feel strangled. Would he ever find a way to escape?

Kyle made his way to the kitchen and turned on the faucet as low as it could go, cupping his hand under the water so it could gather in his palm because he was too afraid to open a cabinet and retrieve a glass. What if Mark counted the glasses? What if he noticed? These crazy thoughts had become a part of Kyle's natural patterns, burning and weaving their way into his psyche. Every second he wasn't with Mark he was worrying about making him angry or imagining what he would do if Kyle made him angry. He drank the water as quickly as he could, saturating his parched throat and rubbing it over his heated face; trying to calm himself.

The dream had receded to no man's land where it couldn't easily be plucked back, but Kyle could remember bits and pieces. He could still see Stan covered in blood and part of his head blown off, white bone shining like porcelain as brain matter slid down the wall behind him. Kyle could've cried at the thought but he didn't dare; what if Mark heard? He recalled what Mark said about his grandfather's guns and he knew he was making a promise of what was to come; he was going to dispose of Stan and that would be the final nail in Kyle's coffin. To his way of thinking Stan was the last obstacle, and now he needed to be broken down; destroyed.

A footfall disturbed his thoughts and Kyle seized up, utterly terrified and ready to throw himself on his knees and beg for mercy, but it was only Rebecca, stepping from the shadows and dressed in a nightgown.

"Kyle? Are you okay?"

Kyle only nodded, his mouth so dry and his heart thudding so hard he couldn't find any words.

"Did Mark," she broke off, biting her lip. "Did he -"

"Yes," Kyle replied, dully. "I mentioned Stan and it was game over." He shrugged. "But what else is new? This is my life now."

She sighed, the sound small and almost lost in the darkness.

"Maybe not," she whispered. "There's something I've been wanting to tell you, but it's been impossible with Mark around."

"Naturally," Kyle replied, rolling his eyes. In his current state he couldn't even let himself become excited at Rebecca's words. "What is it?"

"Well," she started, faltering a little; her hands gathering her nightgown and worrying it nervously. "I was able to get in touch with you know who. Remember?"

Kyle's eyes widened, and his heart picked up its rhythm.

"Damien?" He asked, lowly.

"Yes," she replied, hesitantly. "It took awhile to finally find someone from back then that's still in contact with him, or was even willing to talk." She shuddered. "At first I wasn't even going to call, but after seeing what Mark has been doing to you...the bruises, starving you..." She shook her head. "I couldn't stay silent, Kyle, especially since you're only in this position because of me."

Kyle drew forward, little splashes of affection growing in his heart for Rebecca.

"What did he say?"

She was silent for a moment, and somehow Kyle could feel the fear pouring off of her, almost like heat filling the air and making it quiver.

"He was happy to hear from me, at least that's what he said," she murmured. "He remembered me immediately, Kyle, and Mark as well. I told him that someone I knew needed his help, and when I told him that it had to do with Mark, he automatically jumped at the chance to meet you."

Kyle gripped the counter, completely taken aback by this bit of news; at his sudden good fortune. He tried to ignore the terror evident in Rebecca's voice and demeanor; he had a chance and he was fucking going to take it.

"When?" He asked, passing his tongue over his dry lips.

"He said he'd be willing to meet with us this Friday night. He even said that, depending on how the conversation goes, that he'd be willing to stay in town for awhile, if need be." She paused. "Kyle, he sounded so weirdly excited. I just couldn't make sense of it, but Damien was always like that; nothing he did ever really seemed to make much sense."

Kyle groaned, reality starting to break into his elation.

"How are we going to meet up with him?"

Rebecca waved his words away.

"Don't worry about that part of it, Kyle. Aunt Pam said I could borrow her car anytime, so I have that covered." She sighed. "What you need to concern yourself with is Mark. How are you going to get away from him long enough to go anywhere?"

"I'll think of something," Kyle replied, some of his old spark and fire filtering back into his brain. Shattered pieces were starting to become solid again, even though he still felt so destroyed. There had to be a way, and he was going to find it no matter what it took.

*****

It took careful and methodical planning on Kyle's part to outfox Mark, but he somehow managed to find a way. Naturally, it began with outright capitulation and sacrifice of his dignity, but he figured that was small potatoes in comparison to what he stood to gain. He started carrying out his designs the day after his late night conversation with Rebecca, and every moment he deceived Mark was a moment he felt his old self returning, piece by piece.

It started with an unexpected request on Kyle's part, but he had a feeling Mark would be more than happy to oblige.

"I'm sort of curious," he said, idly, his head resting on Mark's leg as he sat in the chair next to the patio doors. This had become their normal evening routine: Kyle sitting on the floor next to Mark as he stroked his curls, usually looking at his phone or watching TV. He always wore his collar, and depending on Mark's temperament and Kyle's behavior, his leash too.

Mark looked up from his phone, his eyebrows raised; it wasn't often that Kyle spoke out of turn these days.

"Hmm?" He asked, setting the phone aside and a finger twisting through a red curl, tugging it gently.

"I was just wondering if you'd let me take one of your Ambien," Kyle said, trying to sound casual even though his heart was beating a violent staccato in his chest. "I've heard it's really relaxing, so I just wanted to try it." He looked down at the floor, trying to appear demure; behaved.

"That's an odd request," Mark said, his fingers winding Kyle's curl tighter. "Are you feeling anxious?"

"I guess, a little," Kyle said, his eyes still trained on the floor. "I don't like being tense when we, you know," he blushed. "I keep thinking I'm ruining things for you."

"Oh, baby," Mark murmured, his finger loosening from Kyle's hair. His hand came to rest on the back of Kyle's neck, stroking his nape. "You don't need to worry about that; I always enjoy being with you." He thought a moment, the sound of the ocean filling the room while Kyle's heart sped up to a painful extent. "Well, okay. That's actually a good idea; I like when you're willing to experiment."

"I'm trying to be more open minded," Kyle said, shrugging a little. "I can't be repressed for my entire life, can I?"

Mark smiled and rose from his chair.

"I wouldn't worry about that, Kyle. Not with me around." He went into the bathroom and returned a moment later, holding something. "Here," he said, dropping a little white pill into Kyle's hand. "I have a ton of those, actually. I'm not a huge fan."

"Oh?" Kyle asked. "Why is that?"

"I don't know; they just hit me pretty hard. I never really got used to them, but I like to keep them on hand for certain occasions." He sat back down and watched Kyle. "Well?"

Kyle started a little, still clutching the pill. "Oh, right. May I get a drink of water? I'm terrible at swallowing pills dry."

"Of course," Mark replied, waving him away. He picked up his phone and started scrolling. "Just be quick."

"Right." Kyle scrambled up from the floor and went into the bathroom. Quickly, he turned on the water but instead of taking the pill he shoved it into his overnight bag in the drawer, taking care to tuck it into a travel sized Q-tip pack. He shoved the bag back into the drawer and shut it softly, making sure to smear some water on his face for effect. Coming out of the bathroom Mark looked up, only mildly interested, for which Kyle was eternally glad.

"How long does it take for it to kick in?" Kyle asked, taking his place beside Mark again, his head automatically coming to rest against his leg. Mark's hand immediately wound through his curls again, stroking him.

"Oh, half an hour or so? Especially with a lightweight like you," he said, a smile in his voice. "Little bird."

For the next three nights Kyle repeated this pattern, and he was amazed at how simple it was. The only difficult part was trying to appear disoriented from the pills, but he covered it up by requesting more alcohol, which Mark was more than happy to serve him. He'd made it pretty clear in the past that he liked it when Kyle was drugged or drunk, because it made him that much more pliable and easy to control. Kyle's sudden enthusiasm for booze and pharmaceuticals mainly seemed to turn Mark on more, and he had to suffer through twice as much sex, but it was all worth it.

By the time Friday night rolled around Kyle was so anxious and afraid that he thought he was going to vomit from the stress. Rebecca had told him that Damien would meet them at 10 sharp Friday night at the Hobbit Restaurant; and they'd better not be late or else. This had only served to add to the strain Kyle was operating under. When 8:00 rolled around Kyle knew that he'd have to start putting his plan into motion, and that he didn't have the option of fucking up if he was going to save himself; not to mention Stan.

"May I have some whiskey, please?" Kyle asked, obediently sitting on the floor next to Mark's chair. He looked up at him with wide eyes, trying to look cute and unassuming. He was secretly thrilled when Mark smiled indulgently, his dark eyes filling with pleasure at the sudden request.

"That sounds nice, actually," he said, starting to rise from his chair. Hurriedly, Kyle rose on his knees and gently put a hand on his chest, pushing him only slightly so he wouldn't think that he was trying to be combative.

"May I serve you?" He asked, lowering his eyelids and attempting to look seductive. "I want to start taking care of you more since you do so much for me."

A fleeting look of suspicion passed over Mark's face, but only for an instant. After a moment, he relaxed and sat back, his hands folded in his lap.

"Nothing would give me greater pleasure," he said, grinning. "By all means, serve away."

"Thank you," Kyle said, leaning up and kissing Mark softly on the lips. Rising from the floor he went to the dresser and pulled out Mark's bottle of Knob Creek and started pouring some out into a cut glass tumbler, the amber fluid catching the lamplight. Swiftly, he repeated the motion with the other glass, then set the bottle aside. Smiling, he picked up one of the glasses and started walking toward Mark.

 _Well, here goes nothing,_ he thought.

Before he could lose his nerve, Kyle pretended to trip over his own feet and pitched forward, the glass tumbling from his hand and falling to the wood floor where it shattered into a million pieces. He glanced at Mark in feigned terror and gritting his teeth hurriedly dropped to the floor, making sure to bring his knee down on one of the jagged pieces, wincing as he felt it slice his skin open. Looking down he saw ruby blood seeping from his flesh, but he pretended to ignore it while frantically scooping up the pieces of glass with his hands.

"Mark, I'm so sorry," he said, hating the fake whine in his voice as he tried to clean up the mess, blood and whiskey pouring down his leg. "Please, please don't be mad. I'll clean it up!"

Mark stood up and strode over to Kyle, hurriedly pushing his hands away from the shattered glass.

"Stop, now," he said, his voice low and filled with concern. "You've hurt yourself, Kyle. Let me see." Tenderly, he inspected Kyle's wound and sucked in his breath. "That's really deep; I'm going to have to get the first aid kit. Hold on."

In a moment he had left the room to head for the guest bathroom down the hall, and Kyle knew he only had a few precious moments to carry out his plan. Rising from the floor he ran into the bathroom and grabbed the Q-tip container, the powdered dust of ground up Ambien already ready to go. He'd even managed to fish out a bar of Xanax from the bottle Mark kept on the counter, so he'd added it to the mix. With his heart hammering in his chest and a distracting hum rushing through his ears, he rushed back into the bedroom and dumped the mixture into the remaining tumbler of whiskey, nervously mixing it with his finger. Within seconds he'd stashed the Q-tip box into the drawer under a stack of t-shirts and slumped back on the floor, just as Mark re-entered the room, the first aid kit in his hands as well as a broom.

"Poor baby," Mark said, as he set to work mending Kyle's wound; dabbing lovingly at the cut with peroxide and putting a band-aid over it. When he was done he laid a kiss on top, patting the area gently. He looked up at Kyle and grinned. "You're the only person I know who could literally trip over nothing." He stroked Kyle's curls. "You're so fucking cute, I can barely stand it."

"I'm so sorry," Kyle whispered, still trying to appear the very picture of compliance and docility.

Mark kissed his cheek softly. "Kyle, I'm not going to punish you over something like that, okay? So, just relax." Without a word he started sweeping up the shards of glass into a dustpan, finally depositing it in a trashcan.

"May I try to serve you again?" Kyle asked, his tone a little saucy now.

Mark sat back down and crossed his legs, eyeing Kyle closely. "Fine, but be careful this time. I don't want to spend the whole night patching you up."

Limping a little, Kyle went back to the tainted glass of whiskey and got another glass, making sure to keep Mark's glass on his right hand side. It would be a travesty if he mixed up the two glasses; he'd never forgive himself for such idiocy. Carefully, he poured whiskey into the other glass, then slowly carried the two glasses over to Mark, where he handed him the right hand whiskey; his heart buzzing in his chest. Mark stared at the glass for a moment before he glanced up at Kyle, smirking a little; holding it up.

"To us," he said, a little gleam in his eye.

Almost feeling like he was going to pass out, Kyle clinked his glass against Mark's then watched as he tipped the liquor into his mouth, taking a huge gulp. Kyle slowly sipped his own whiskey, hating its flavor, but knowing that if he drank it would encourage Mark to finish his sooner. After a few minutes Mark had drained his glass, and Kyle was barely a third of the way through his own.

"Pour me another, will you?" Mark asked, handing his glass to Kyle. His hand came up and squeezed Kyle's ass as he turned away, making him yelp.

 _That's right, you fucking prick._ _Just keep drinking,_ he thought, savagely. _You're only helping me out._

*****

"Are you sure he's really going to stay asleep?" Rebecca asked anxiously as they entered the restaurant just a little before 10, the dim lighting washing over her white gown and making her glow. She'd pulled her hair back into a simple up do with tiny pearls adorning her ears.

"No," Kyle replied, nervously. He ran a hand through his hair trying to tame it even as he knew it was no use. He'd dressed in slacks and a powder blue shirt, opting for the preppy look. Honestly, he hadn't really cared what he wore; he was just glad to be allowed to wear clothes because Mark kept him naked so often. "I'm not sure at all, actually. All I can tell you is that he didn't move when I slapped him across the face."

"You didn't," she gasped, her hand resting on her mouth.

"You fucking bet I did," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Do you really think I was going to pass up a chance like that?"

Rebecca sighed, looking around and trying to navigate through the crowd. Through large windows Kyle could see the bay twinkling under the light of the stars and a horned moon; against his will he picked out Boötes immediately, angry that Mark even had the ability to ruin constellations for him.

"There he is," she said softly, clutching at Kyle's arm. "Kyle, I'm scared."

"Don't be," he murmured, holding her arm firmly even as fear rose inside of him. He'd had a weird feeling in his chest ever since Rebecca had said Damien's name, like there was something his body wanted him to remember even though his mind kept drawing a blank. "We'll be okay, I promise."

"What are you basing that on?" She hissed, her fingers digging into his flesh, making him wince.

"Nothing, but this is the only option I have right now, so be cool."

Slowly they approached the table where a dark figure was leaning casually, a collection of long, lean limbs dressed all in black. As they drew nearer Damien raised his head and Kyle was taken aback at how handsome he was, and so familiar. His chest twinged again, but he tried to ignore it. Damien smiled, and it was decidedly feral but disarming too, and the golden overhead lights reflected off of his rich dark hair making it gleam. His face had an almost elvish quality; slanted eyes and a sharp jawline. He beckoned to them as he sipped from a goblet of deep red wine.

"Sit," he said, pleasantly, although Kyle also detected a note of authority in his voice. "Please."

They both sat, Damien in the middle, and Kyle could see Rebecca trembling as she tried to nonchalantly shift toward the edge of the booth. Damien seemed to notice this too and smirked, and for a moment he looked almost exactly like Mark; the resemblance making Kyle feel nauseous. He drank from his goblet again and regarded Kyle, his dark eyes studying him over the rim of his glass. Setting the glass down he propped his face on his hand, continuing to watch him closely.

"So," he said, his voice syrupy and smooth. "You're Mark's pet, I take it?"

Kyle started, staring at him in shock. Damien just gazed back, his face serene but hungry, too; watchful.

"I-I don't know what you mean, exactly," Kyle stammered, fiddling with his napkin.

Damien ran a finger under his chin and lifted his face a little, sniffing the air gently.

"His smell is all over you, Kyle," he smiled. "Why, I could smell it even before you entered the restaurant." He lifted his glass and drink, his tongue licking away some wine from his lip. "Believe me, I know Mark's smell. I know it very well."

Kyle couldn't help the tremor that coursed through his body at his words, and now the nausea was back in spades. He gripped the edge of the table, trying to collect himself.

"I'm not his pet," he seethed, his knuckles white from grabbing the table so hard. "I'll never be his fucking pet; I'd rather die."

"You very well might, at the rate you're going," Damien purred, setting his glass down. "I should know. I trained Mark, I know exactly what he's capable of." He sniffed again. "He's hurt you. A lot."

Kyle cut his eyes toward Damien, his face a rabid scowl. He knew he should control his rage but he just couldn't, not if this demon had been responsible for unleashing Mark on the world, on him.

"How could you?" He seethed. "How could you create that monster and then let him loose? He's fucking crazy and uncontrollable!" He started shaking then, his mind running back and pulling up memories of being battered and raped; dark nights filled with fear and tasting blood in his mouth the following morning.

"You misunderstand me," Damien said. "I didn't create Mark."

"But you said you trained him," Kyle said, his voice trembling with fear and rage.

Damien shook his head.

"I just manipulated the darkness that was already inside of him," he said. "Essentially, he created himself. I just helped hone is natural skills." He shrugged. "Really, he was a work of beauty when I was done with him." Damien glanced at Rebecca suddenly, causing her to catch her breath and sit back as far as she could go. He looked at her for a moment, a slow smile creeping over his thin lips. Slowly, he lifted his hand and reached toward her, a long pale finger winding a long curl over and over; having escaped and fallen from her up do. All of the color drained from her face, but she made no motion to pull away.

"You would've been a sublime experience," he murmured, continuing to toy with her hair. "But, no, you just wouldn't do. You have your mother's spirit; the good doctor." He smirked, his hand dropping swiftly; her hair springing back into a perfect curl. Damien looked back at Kyle. "Mark has more of his father's blood; a sadist's predilections. He was just what I needed."

"Then why didn't you keep him?" Kyle asked, trying to resist the urge to choke Damien until he slumped over the table.

"I wanted to," Damien said, suddenly looking sad; the effect horrifying. "But I had other business to attend to. I've always regretted that, having to relinquish him. But," he looked up, his eyes flashing red for a moment. Kyle shook his head, it had to be the lights playing tricks on him. "I have time now. Lots of time."

"What do you mean?" Kyle asked, suspicion rising like bile in his throat.

"How far would you be willing to go to save yourself, Kyle?" Damien purred, watching him closely. "I'm just curious."

"I-I don't know," Kyle answered, trying to be honest. How far was he willing to go? He'd already suffered so much.

Damien continued to watch him, a finger tapping against the white tablecloth creating a muted sound; tiny thuds that only served to help the tension swell.

"You wouldn't just be saving yourself," he said, finally. "No, you'd be saving someone you love." Damien practically spat out "love" like it was a piece of poison candy, melting his tongue. "So, I'm guessing you'd be willing to do pretty much anything. Even walk through fire?"

"Only if you were actually able to help me," Kyle bit out, his jaw clenched. "I don't need bullshit promises, okay? I need someone who can keep their word."

"Oh, Kyle, a man's word is all he has at the end of the day," Damien purred. "I just need to know that you're willing to put your own skin in the game." He grinned. "Maybe a little blood, too."

"I'll do whatever it takes," Kyle snapped, a fresh wave of sweat oozing from his pores. Suddenly he felt like he was burning from the inside out.

"Well, then, we can talk," Damien replied, sitting back, a look of pure glee on his face. "But first." He snapped his fingers at a server walking by, garnering their attention immediately. Damien drained the last of the wine from his glass and held it up. "More Cabernet, please," he said, then gestured at Kyle and Rebecca. "And anything my friends would like. Tonight's meal is on me."


	39. Trials of Fire -Kyle/Damien's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: VIOLENCE! ABUSE! SATANIC ELEMENTS! STEER CLEAR IF THESE SUBJECTS ARE NOT FOR YOU!
> 
> We're winding down here, guys, and I'm pretty excited. Pretty soon you will witness what it looks like to send someone back to Hell where they belong, lmao. (For the most part...things are never quite that simple, are they?) This part was fun to write bc I think it's pretty obvious at this point that I love evil characters. They're fun to write and they're fun to hate. Am I awful for not being able to hate Mark completely? Who knows?
> 
> Hold on, Kyle. The light at the end of the tunnel is approaching...I just hope it isn't a train, lmao.
> 
> ENJOY!! :D (As always, don't read the story without paying attention to the warnings and then get all pissy. I won't have any sympathy, I assure you.)

"Are you sure you aren't hungry?"

Kyle glanced up from his place on the floor, suddenly realizing he hadn't been paying attention to Mark for several moments; lost in thought. Vague terror passed through him, but he kept his voice steady when he replied.

"I don't want anything." He looked out the window again, his eyes following a pair of gulls floating over the storm-tossed sea; huge swells of water rising and falling continuously.

"You're acting kind of weird, Kyle," Mark commented, suspicion seeping into his words. "You've been out of it all day." His hand came to rest on Kyle's head, threading through his curls always; he could never seem to stop touching his hair.

"I'm just tired, I guess," Kyle replied, nuzzling himself into Mark's touch and hating himself for doing it. He despised having to be affectionate with him, every moment he came into contact with him he wanted to vomit. But he had to keep playing the game, especially now that he was so close.

"You're tired?" Mark asked, incredulously. Kyle glanced up to see him clutching at his head; rubbing his temple. "I feel like I was hit by a fucking train. I have no idea what happened last night but that whiskey completely destroyed me; I can barely remember anything."

Kyle had to stop himself from smiling and he quickly looked away. He'd managed to do some research and had discovered that Ambien really fucked with a person's memory, especially when taken with alcohol and in large doses. That's what he'd been banking on and he couldn't be happier that it had come to fruition. Mark had still been asleep when Kyle and Rebecca came home the night before, just a little before midnight; snoring and completely dead to the world. Kyle had managed to climb into bed beside him and he hadn't even stirred, and he'd even woken up before Mark this morning. In fact, Mark hadn't woken up until well past noon, and he still seemed utterly exhausted.

Now Mark was trying to choke down some lunch while Kyle couldn't help drifting back to the events of the previous night; his mind conjuring up Damien's cruel eyes and dark hair, the color of crow's feathers. His mind also kept straying to the tiny bottle he'd been given, which he'd hidden as carefully as he could in Rebecca's room; a scarlet bottle waiting for events to start unfolding. Damien had told him that if he wanted his freedom he better be prepared to use its contents, otherwise there was no way he'd be able to slip away from Mark that evening.

"I'll expect you at 10," he'd said, simply. "I'm staying at the Hilton; just tell the people at the front desk that you're there to see me, and they'll direct you." He'd smirked, too, polishing off yet another glass of red wine. "I trust you'll be punctual."

"How much am I supposed to use?" Kyle had asked, clutching the bottle tightly in his hand.

Damien had stared at him for a moment, his strange eyes fathomless. "Three drops," he'd finally said. "That'll knock him out for the entire night, and then we'll have plenty of time. That way, you won't have to go to quite the same lengths as you did this evening." The cold smile that had appeared on his face after speaking had put a chill in Kyle's blood that he still hadn't shaken.

Suddenly, Mark's hand came to rest on the back of his neck and Kyle almost gasped, terrified and disoriented from being so lost in thought. Almost immediately he started trembling.

"I don't like when you're this quiet, Kyle," Mark said, squeezing gently. "True, you aren't mouthing off but it makes me think your mind is somewhere it shouldn't be." His fingers dug in, making Kyle wince. "Do I need to be concerned?"

Quickly Kyle shook his head. Mark had the uncanny ability to nose out indiscretions and subterfuge, and Kyle had to figure that it had to do with his naturally suspicious, mistrusting nature. He straightened up and rose onto his knees, laying his head across Mark's lap. Now both of Mark's hands had come to settle on Kyle's head, all ten of his fingers threading their way through his hair, making him want to cringe and tear himself away.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, pitifully. "I just have a lot on my mind."

"Don't tell me you're worried about something," Mark murmured, massaging Kyle's head. "I'm here to take care of you, Kyle. So long as you obey, you'll be just fine; I promise."

Kyle felt positively nauseous when he spoke next, knowing he had to continue to throw Mark off the trail; disarm him.

"I'm just afraid people won't understand," he sighed, resting a hand under his cheek. Vaguely, he was aware that Mark was becoming hard underneath him, his arousal swelling while stroking Kyle's curls. The knowledge made him even more nauseous, but he fought it away. "What we have is so special, Mark."

Mark scoffed, his touch becoming more aggressive.

"We don't need anyone to understand, Kyle," he replied, his tone dark. "What we are to each other is none of anyone's fucking business. Besides, I think it's time we start talking about some of your friends; I don't think they're good for you."

Kyle gulped.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," Mark said. "I've told you before that you fraternize with people who are beneath you." He snorted. "Like Kenny? I can't believe you can even stomach talking to him; what a fucking idiot."

A small flame erupted in Kyle's brain at these words, and for a moment he forgot himself.

"That isn't fair," he said. "Kenny's always been really supportive and good to me, Mark. You haven't even given him a chance."

"Excuse me?" Mark asked, an edge coming into his voice that had the power to tear Kyle apart. Frantically, he tried to backtrack.

"I just mean that Kenny's a decent person. I think you should reconsider."

"No," Mark replied, simply; almost like the very idea was beyond laughable. "I think it's better if I choose your friends, Kyle. You don't seem to know what's best for you, so I'll take care of things."

Kyle sighed, knowing that it couldn't be helped; at least not yet. Mark's motivations were pretty clear: he wanted to isolate Kyle to the point where he had no choice but to turn to him, and when that happened, when Kyle was completely alone, Mark would've won completely. Even his meeting with Damien wasn't enough to keep Kyle from lapsing into despair, but anger was rekindling itself too, and once again he could barely fathom the depths of Mark's depravity. His thoughts must have registered in his body language because all of a sudden Mark's fingers were gripping his hair tighter, and he yanked Kyle's head back, making him yelp softly.

"I'm sensing some tension here, Kyle," Mark said, softly; dark eyes becoming tunnels leading to nowhere. "Is there anything you'd like to say to me?" He shook Kyle a little.

Some of the snap was leaking back into Kyle's mind now, but along with it came hopelessness and desperate fear. But the thing that seemed to overshadow everything was a deep, endless weariness. Kyle was so tired of being in Hell; so desperately tired of being at Mark's beck and call, simply tired of being afraid and not in control of his own fucking life. It was this exhaustion that encouraged his next words, even though he knew saying them would only make him suffer in the long run. Who cared? He was going to suffer either way, it seemed.

"Why don't you just kill me, Mark?" Kyle whispered, locking his green eyes on him. "No matter what I do you're angry and always waiting to punish me, so why can't you just put me out of my misery?"

"You've got to be kidding," Mark scoffed, hand loosening to stroke through Kyle's tangled curls again. "After all the work I've put into this you really think I'm just going to kill you? The endgame for this entire goddamn situation is keeping you, Kyle. Forever. There's no way I'm letting you go that easily."

Kyle started to shake involuntarily, the feeling of Mark's hands on him making bile rise in his throat; the collar resting around his neck feeling like it weighed a million pounds. "Well, I'm clearly never going to behave or act exactly the way you want me to, Mark, and I can't just continue to suffer through beatings or whatever sick crap you have in store for me." He looked away, staring at the waves crashing against the shoreline with a vengeance. "Something has to give here, because I don't know how much more I can take."

"What's come over you, Kyle?" Mark asked, stroking him. "You've been behaving so beautifully and now this; I must say it's very disturbing coming out of nowhere."

Kyle dared to rip himself away from Mark's hands and moved away, his eyes filling with tears that burned like fire. How he hated crying in front of this evil sack of shit; absolutely loathed breaking down in front of him. Mark watched him mildly, the anger simmering softly but not boiling over yet. He waited.

"You can't possibly think that this is going to last forever," Kyle said, his voice rising. "Nothing about this situation is sustainable, Mark. Fine, I'll admit it, you got me to crack; you made me cave. I've broken down and it's all because of you, so isn't that enough?"

"No, it isn't," Mark replied, still holding onto his temper. "You've cracked but you haven't accepted the truth. We belong together and you love me. You love me more than anyone; that's the ultimate goal here, and it will come in time. We'll lead you there, no matter how long it takes."

Kyle just stared at him, amazed time and again at how deeply Mark's sickness went. It almost seemed like any semblance of sanity had completely fled his psyche at this point, and only poison and delusions were left. How was he supposed to fight against complete insanity? Insanity didn't see reason or logic, it just responded to what it wanted to see and hear.

"You're crazy," he whispered, a slow, horrible pity crawling through his brain. Kyle hated Mark with a passion, but he couldn't help but feel bad for him too; he couldn't even see his depravity. He lived in another dimension devoid of reality, and Kyle had to wonder if that made him feel alone all the time. Maybe that's why he was clinging so desperately to him? He licked his dry, cracked lips. "Mark, you need help, okay? Why won't you let me help you?"

"Right, like you could help anyone," Mark replied, rolling his eyes. "I'm just going to ignore your unfounded accusation, Kyle, and instead focus your attention on how ridiculous your offer is."

Kyle's eyes widened in confusion. "What?"

"Let's think about this, okay? You can't even help yourself, Kyle," Mark said, talking slowly and deliberately, like Kyle was completely brain-dead. "If you could help yourself, you wouldn't be in this situation, would you? You had so many opportunities to walk away and guess what? You didn't. You kept coming back, which tells me two things." He held up two fingers, smirking. "It tells me that you like being with me, and it also tells me that you have no fucking clue how to advocate for yourself." He laughed a little. "And yet you want to go around acting like you can help other people. That's just fucking hilarious."

"I'm only here because I fucking helped your sister!" Kyle yelled, his temper finally taking hold and coming back full force. "And I only had to help her because she stabbed you; because you're fucking evil and you treat people like animals you can order around! We should've just let you die!" He stared at the floor, hateful tears still pouring down his face. "We showed you compassion even after you never had any for us, and now you're making us both suffer. How can you be so casual about this? Why can't you see how wrong all of this is?!" He looked up to see Mark regarding him quietly, eyebrows raised and fingers pressed together under his chin.

"I'd rather turn myself into the police than continue to stay here and be terrorized by you," Kyle said, softly, not caring about the consequences anymore.

His words made Mark smile a little, and within a moment he'd picked up his phone from its place on the table next to his chair.

"Oh, is that so?" He asked, swiping a finger across the screen. Looking down, he pressed a few buttons and then held up the phone so Kyle could see, too. Kyle's eyes widened with fear when he saw the name flashing across the display: Sergeant Yates.

"If that's how you feel, Kyle, why don't I call on your behalf right now?" Mark continued to hold up the phone, his smile dissolving into a smirk. "I'm sure they'll be happy to hear from me, and then you can be free." His eyes flashed. "You do realize your punishment will be worse because you covered it up, right? You've covered up the truth for months, Kyle." Mark lapsed into silence for a moment, clearly ruminating. "What does that suggest? Oh, that's right, malice aforethought; I believe that's the term. Clearly, you knew what you were doing was wrong, which means they won't peg this as a crime of passion. No, you and Becky planned the whole thing."

"I'll just tell them it was in self defense," Kyle replied, trembling. "Because it was; you were trying to attack me and Rebecca had to stop you."

"Then why didn't you tell the police that at the very beginning, Kyle?" Mark asked, eyes shining and genuinely curious. "If it's so cut and dry why didn't you just come clean? Oh, that's right, because you and Becky fucked with the crime scene so it looked like the whole thing was an accident." He shook his head, chuckling. "There's no way the police would believe anything you say at this point, anyway. You've been quiet for too long, Kyle. They have no reason to trust anything you say. They'll listen to me, the victim."

"Right, like you've ever been a fucking victim," Kyle replied, a wet sob breaking out of his mouth. Bitterness and despair crawled into his brain with every word Mark spoke; clearly he'd thought out and prepared for this very conversation.

"And just think of how much it'll devastate your future," Mark continued, his tone musing. "I don't think most people want to be treated by a bloodthirsty doctor, and that's if a school would even accept you into their medical program. Why would any school worth its salt invite such a scandal into its walls?"

"I'd be tried as a minor, Mark," Kyle snapped. "My records would be sealed."

"How can you be so sure?" Mark purred. "Given the savage, violent nature of the crime, not to mention the underhanded, sneaky way you tried to cover it up, I wouldn't be surprised if they tried you as an adult, and then your entire record is open to the public." He shrugged. "But who could know for sure unless we call, right?" Mark glanced at him, his eyes narrowing. "I take it you already discussed this with Becky, right? Because it's not just yourself you're throwing under the bus, Kyle; you're bringing her down with you, too."

Kyle blanched, and hung his head. Vaguely, he could hear Mark laughing again.

"So, make up your mind, Kyle," he said. "My finger's right on the button so you make the call; I can go either way."

He continued to sob quietly as silence descended on the room; tension settling over him like a weighted mantle. Kyle heard a rustling, footsteps, and then Mark was kneeling in front of him and taking hold of his chin, yanking his head up so he was forced to look into his face.

"I told you to make up your mind," Mark hissed, squeezing his face. "Now."

Slowly, Kyle shook his head, tears continuing to pour. The funny thing was that he might have been willing to turn himself in, but he didn't want to throw Rebecca to the wolves if he could help it. If she ever made the choice to come clean he probably would support her, but for now he didn't want to make the decisions for both of them. Silently, he prayed that Damien could help him, because no matter what he knew that things were only going to get worse. Mark always found a way to tighten the screws and make the wounds deepen.

"That's what I thought," Mark said, his voice oily and smooth. He gave Kyle's chin one last brutal squeeze and then stood up, setting his phone back down on the table. Slowly, he started to unbuckle his belt, the metal clinking and the sound of leather passing through belt loops making Kyle recoil. Mark snapped the belt across his hand and watched Kyle, his eyes becoming crazy-bright and nearly unfocused.

"Get on the bed face down," he said. "I think it's time for your next lesson."

*****

Kyle's body was saturated with fatigue and pain as the bellhop led him down the hall, the temperature seemingly dropping with every step they took. By the time they made it to the set of double doors Kyle was shivering openly, and the bellhop looked at him with large eyes as he timidly reached out a hand to rap softly on the white wood. After a moment, a tall young woman opened the door and peered out, her eyes questioning until they fell on Kyle; then she smiled slowly.

The bellhop cleared his throat, the sound harsh in the silence of the hallway.

"There's a Mr. Broflovski here to see Mr. Damien Thorn," he said, his voice nearly cracking.

She nodded curtly, her striking face taking in the bellhop and seeming to dismiss him immediately. Opening the door all the way, she stepped out and Kyle could see that she was dressed in a dark blouse and a tight pencil skirt; sharp-pointed high heels adorning her feet. Reaching out a hand, she laid it on Kyle's shoulder and suddenly he felt colder than ever.

"Yes, of course. Kyle," she said, squeezing his shoulder gently. Even this gesture made Kyle wince; there was a bruise still forming on that very spot, but he didn't pull away. "Please, do come in." She turned to the bellhop and raised an eyebrow at his upturned hand. After a moment, she produced some money from out of nowhere and slipped it into his hand, rolling her eyes. "You can leave now," she said, directing Kyle into the hotel room and shutting the door with a snap.

"I've always detested presumptuous help," she sneered, sighing. Shaking her head, she turned to Kyle and smiled, the expression making her face prettier but even more remote. Deep chocolate brown eyes regarded him for a moment and then she was holding out a hand. "I'm Ariadne, Mr. Thorn's assistant. You can call me Ari." They shook and Kyle had to ignore a wave of nausea that passed through him. She was so cold.

Ari glanced at her watch and looked pleased. "Two minutes to ten; Mr. Thorn will be happy about that. You're not too early but you're not late. That's perfect." She gestured to another set of doors. "Right this way."

Meekly, Kyle followed Ari through the doors and into a sitting room. The patio doors were wide open and the sounds of the sea rushed in. Damien's suite of rooms was at the very top of the hotel, and the night sky stretched out forever; all darkness and no stars to be found. The room was dimly lit, and for a moment it was hard for Kyle to discern any details, but finally his eyes settled on Damien, who was sitting on the couch with his legs crossed, a tumbler in his hand. His eyes were already studying Kyle, and he had to gulp down sudden moisture collecting in his mouth.

"Kyle to see you, sir," Ari said silkily. "Was there anything else you needed from me?"

"Not at this time, Ariadne, thank you," Damien replied, his voice musical but full of sharp teeth. "If you'll excuse us."

"Of course," she replied, nodding her head a little. She glanced at Kyle with a little smirk that seemed to say "good luck" before she backed out of the room, closing the doors behind her.

Kyle waited in silence as Damien regarded him, practically feeling those dark, cold eyes traveling all over his form. For a moment he felt like Mark was in the room as well, studying him and waiting to draw back the belt; salivating at the prospect of bringing it down on Kyle's flesh and making him scream. He shuddered.

"You don't need to worry about anything like that, Kyle," Damien said, breaking the silence. "If you gave Mark what was in the bottle his memory will be wiped. He'll never know you were here unless you tell him, and that would just be foolish, wouldn't it? Now, come closer, I want to get a better look at you."

Reluctantly, Kyle drew closer, every muscle and bone in his body screaming from agony. He stopped right in front of Damien, who was still languidly sitting on the sofa and nursing his drink, long limbs relaxed. The only thing that seemed to burn were his eyes, which for a moment flashed red, and once again Kyle had to blink at the change, hardly believing it. He stood there, feeling completely naked as Damien drank him in, and he had to fight back the urge to run from the room.

"Well, I can see why Mark chose you," Damien said, his voice low and full of admiration. He stood and set his drink aside, coming over to Kyle and circling him like a shark. Kyle nearly yelped when he felt a finger being dragged across the back of his neck, the tip feeling like a razor and so, so cold. A scream crawled up his throat but he swallowed it down, along with the bile bubbling up from his stomach. The faint feeling of a memory stirring and begging him to remember appeared again, but he still felt hopelessly lost.

"You're beautiful," Damien almost sighed, continuing to circle and appraise him. "After all of your trials, you're still so full of hope and self-sacrifice. Why, you're the perfect little lamb." A hand came up and twisted one of Kyle's curls, making him jump a little. "Oh, no, don't do that," Damien soothed. "You've suffered today, I can tell. I won't hurt you, at least not physically. Not yet." He gestured to the sofa. "Please, sit."

Slowly, Kyle sat, and Damien followed suit, picking up his tumbler again. He shook it a little, getting Kyle's attention.

"Would you like a drink?"

Kyle shook his head. He was pretty sure he couldn't choke down anything right now, not with fear and repulsion making his throat practically close up. He coughed, trying to clear his airway a little before he spoke.

"What did you mean when you said you could see why Mark chose me?"

Damien took a drink and shook his glass again, swirling the liquid around. He glanced at Kyle again, and his eyes practically devoured him, head and all.

"You're innocent, Kyle," he said. "You aren't pure anymore, though I'm sure you were at one point, but you can't be completely corrupted, of that I'm sure. Mark is drawn to that because it's so contrary to his own nature." He thought a moment, smiling. "You know, he wasn't always the monster you describe. You know that, don't you?"

Kyle shook his head. "I find that hard to believe."

Damien smirked. "I can see why. He's really put you through your paces, hasn't he?" His hand came to rest on Kyle's leg where a particularly vicious bite mark was throbbing just below the fabric of his pants. Damien pressed the area gently, making Kyle suck air through his teeth. "He's made you shed so much blood, Kyle, but you still have your pride, don't you? You still have the desire to do the right thing."

"I suppose so."

"Don't be so modest," Damien scoffed. "There are so few people in the world who are genuinely good. Don't sell yourself short." He set his glass down with a glittery thud, and rested his head on his hand, still watching Kyle. "You sacrificed yourself for his sister."

"I had to," Kyle replied, looking down at his lap. "Mark was just going to continue terrorizing her, and I couldn't let her go to prison or whatever for finally standing up to him."

"And now you've taken her place, haven't you?" Damien asked, knowingly. "He's focused his attentions on you, and she's safe. For now."

"I guess." Kyle thought a moment. "But Mark sacrificed himself for Rebecca in the past, too. Right?" He gulped. "When she was in debt to you...."

Damien sneered. "Don't be fooled, Kyle. Mark took her place to help himself, not his sister. He couldn't stomach the idea of someone else having her." He stood, going to a table where a basket of fruit was sitting; apples and grapes and oranges waiting in jeweled tones, the most vivid things in the room. "No, he wanted to have her first, and I suppose he did, didn't he? A brother lying down with his own sister. Yes, Mark is a rare, dangerous breed."

"How do you know all of this?" Kyle asked, suspiciously.

"I know everything about Mark, Kyle. I've kept tabs on him the same way he's kept tabs on you. But my focus has been going on for years; ever since I had to let him go." Damien plucked an apple from the basket and returned to Kyle, rolling the fruit in his hands. "Besides, I have eyes everywhere. Wherever evil festers, I see it; I can taste it and breathe it in. It's my job."

"What are you?" Kyle asked, wanting to back away, his body already beginning to tremble. Just what the fuck had he gotten himself into?

"Some would call me the deceiver, I suppose, though that isn't my aim here, Kyle." Damien sat back down, still toying with the apple. "I'm many things but I'm different things depending on who you speak with. I'm police brutality, I'm public unrest, I'm the riots that tore Baltimore apart a few years ago. I'm too many things to choose just one. Besides, you should be more concerned about what I can do for you, rather than what I am."

"What can you do for me?" Kyle asked, softly.

"Why don't I show you? Seeing is believing, right?" Damien held out the apple, shining blood red and perfect in his long pale fingers. "Take a bite."

Kyle eyed the apple with complete and utter revulsion, his mind creating rapid-fire images of fairy tale princesses in glass coffins, pieces of fruit lodged in their throats, of Adam and Eve tasting the forbidden fruit and suddenly being deluged in shame at their nakedness; of serpents waiting in shadows and smiling, fangs glistening and waiting to bite.

"I-I don't think I can," he stammered, continuing to gaze at the fruit as terror rose like murky waters in his chest.

"Don't be foolish," Damien replied, soothingly. "It won't hurt you. It'll only allow you to see the truth."

"Right, your version of the truth," Kyle muttered. Reluctantly, he started to reach out, knowing he was crazy and stupid for even considering taking a bite, but he knew that his back was against the wall, and it was already covered with bite marks and gashes. What other choice did he have? His fingers slipped around the smooth apple and suddenly it was in his palm, and he couldn't help but notice how warm it was in relation to the rest of the room.

"Good boy," Damien murmured, eyes flashing again; the same color as the fruit in Kyle's hand. "Now take a bite, that's all you need."

Fighting back the fear that was threatening to consume him, Kyle brought the apple to his lips and opened his mouth, the scent of the fruit sickly sweet in his nostrils. He could see Damien's eyes widen with excitement as Kyle sank his teeth in, and the juice from the fruit flooded his tongue, honey sweet but so bitter, too. He had to stop himself from gagging as the apple collapsed inside of his mouth and he chewed slowly.

"Now the fun can begin," Damien purred, his hand stealing up to Kyle's head to twist a curl, and for a moment it was like being back with Mark; his finger winding tightly and tugging, demonstrating his ownership.

*****

Kyle woke up but he didn't know where he was. He was no longer in Damien's hotel room and he felt so tired, practically overrun with fatigue. Lifting his heavy head, he looked around and saw that he was in a room that almost looked like a cavern, black and cold; no light filtering in save for sconces lining the walls throwing blood-red light. It was enough to see only a few feet in front of his face, but not far enough to get his bearings. Dimly, he was aware that he wasn't alone, sensing movement and warmth elsewhere in the room, but Kyle was too exhausted to move.

All at once, a door opened across the room, and firelight crept in as it swung inward; a black figure silhouetted against the glare. Quickly, the door closed again plunging the space back into its rosy darkness, and Kyle could hear footsteps passing along the hard floor, little clicks of hard-soled shoes. Just the sound was enough for his stomach to clench up, and a wave of sweat broke out across his skin. Where was he?

The sound of fingers snapping broke the silence in the room, and all of a sudden the sconces were burning more brightly, bringing the room into horrible focus. Kyle gasped to see Mark laying on the floor, completely naked and bound in chains. His entire body was covered in gore and wounds, his injuries even worse than Kyle's, and he brought a hand to his mouth in horror. Pressing himself back against the wall, he was afraid that he'd be spotted, but then something occurred to him; no doubt Damien wanted him to see what was about to happen. This is what he meant when he wanted to show Kyle what he was capable of, what he could do for him. He'd taken him to the past, to witness where all of this brutality had started; the origins of the whole awful story.

"Wake up," Damien commanded, nudging Mark's sleeping form with his foot. "Now."

Mark stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open, and when they landed on Damien, he scowled. A look of complete hatred and defiance broke across his face as he sat up, his chains dragging on the floor. He brought a hand to his mouth where he wiped away a small drip of blood, his tongue passing over his lips.

"I take it you slept well?" Damien asked, his voice a cruel symphony; beautiful but jagged. "You were out for quite a long time."

"I'm sleeping on a fucking stone floor," Mark replied, that familiar edge in his voice. "How the fuck do you think I slept, you son of a bitch?"

Kyle gasped when he saw Damien reach down and take a handful of Mark's hair, ripping his head back and making him scream.

"What have I told you about talking back? Hmm?" Damien practically purred, yanking on his hair again. "Now, what do you say? I need to hear the words."

Mark struggled away, his face still stubborn even as Damien continued to pull his head back. "No," he gasped.

Damien chuckled a little and let him go, seeming to drink in Mark's refusal to capitulate. He studied him for a moment before savagely smacking him across the face, not once, but four times in a row, every blow becoming more brutal until Mark couldn't even sit up straight. Fresh blood poured from his nose and mouth, and Kyle could hear his breath rasping from his throat; dry and painful. His stomach turned at the sight unfolding before him.

_Is that what I look like when Mark is beating me? Jesus Christ, what a fucking nightmare._

"Now, let's try this again, shall we?" Damien asked, reaching out and taking a hold of Mark's hair again. He savagely yanked him up and onto his knees. "Tell me what I want to hear, Mark." He shook him a little. "Do it, or things will just get worse, and that's a promise."

Kyle's heart almost stopped at the sound of a sob being torn from Mark, and he could've cried. None of this excused Mark's behavior at all, but god, he didn't want to see him being brutalized either. Not to this extent, at least. It was all so senseless.

"I-I'm sorry, Master," Mark said, tears falling down his face and mixing with his blood.

Damien smirked and stroked Mark's gore-covered cheek. "That's better, pet," he murmured. "Have I ever told you how beautiful you are when you obey? You're practically a painting I could hang on my wall." He laughed. "Maybe I will. I could just attach your chains right over there." He pointed toward the far wall right next to Kyle. "I'd have you hanging and waiting for me, always at attention. Would you like that?"

Mark just dropped his eyes to the floor, still sniffling. Kyle could almost feel the anger and fear pouring off of him. It seeped into the air and turned it foul; the stench of blood and terror sweat and despair. He could feel it beginning to choke him.

"Aren't you glad you took your sister's place?" Damien asked, cruelly. He continued to hold Mark up, but now he'd let go of his hair and was cradling his chin, one slender finger drifting over his bleeding mouth. "To think you'd put yourself through so much agony just because you want to fuck your own flesh and blood."

"That isn't true!" Mark yelled.

"Oh, yes, it is," Damien replied, rolling his eyes as he continued to cup Mark's face. "I can see into your warped, disgusting mind and I know exactly what you want to do to her. In fact, I've helped it along; your desire. Can you feel it growing?"

Mark started trying to jerk out of Damien's grasp, his face filled with fury again. "Stay out of my fucking mind, you dirty prick! What you're doing to my body is bad enough but stay the fuck out of my thoughts!"

Damien only laughed and held him tighter. "My little angel of mercy," he snickered. "That's what you want Rebecca to believe, but we know better, don't we? We know the truth because it's written all over the walls of your brain. Laying your sister on her back and spreading her -"

"Stop! Just stop!" Mark screamed, and Kyle had never heard such deep sorrow and pain in his life. He sounded like a wounded animal that had its leg stuck in a trap, the jagged teeth sinking into bone and flesh.

"Hit a nerve, did I?" Damien asked. He stooped forward and kissed away the tears from Mark's eyes, licking over his lips and clearly savoring their flavor. "Well, prepare yourself. I'm about to hit another."

"What are you talking about?" Mark asked, his voice trembling just like Kyle's had so many times.

"Oh, you'll know in a moment," Damien replied. He let go of Mark and stood, gazing down at him. "Turn around."

"W-why?" Mark made no move to do as directed, and Kyle wanted to yell at him to just fucking comply.

A flame erupted in Damien's hand and suddenly he was clutching a dagger, its wicked glitter catching the ruby light cast from the walls. Kyle's eyes widened along with Mark's, both of them staring at the cruel, sharp edge of the weapon.

"I said turn around," Damien said, the edge in his voice very similar to the one Mark assumed with Kyle. "I need to mark my property, don't I?"

"No!" Mark screamed, trying to jump up and scramble away, leaving his back exposed to Damien.

Damien just smiled, his sharp teeth catching the light as well and making it look like his mouth was full of blood. He came forward and took hold of one of Mark's chains, yanking him backward even as he continued to struggle. In a swift motion, he pressed the dagger against Mark's throat which immediately made him go still, visible tremors breaking through his body.

"I'll give you a Glasgow smile if you keep this up," Damien murmured, sliding the weapon up and making it so it rested against Mark's lips. "I'll send you back to your sister completely disfigured, I promise. Do you think she'll want you then?"

Mark could only whimper and continue to tremble. Slowly, he shook his head, relaxing in Damien's arms as the fight started to flow out of him.

"Why?" He whispered. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you belong to me," Damien said, simply. The words made Kyle pitch forward in agony, knowing that this exchange very closely mirrored many of his conversations with Mark. It was truly like watching himself be tortured and broken down.

"That's better," Damien murmured, stroking Mark's skin. "This will only take a moment. Just relax." Slowly, he drew the dagger upward, his eyes settling on a spot at the bottom of Mark's back. Before he could bring it down, Kyle started screaming that he'd seen enough; his hands coming up to cover his eyes against the nightmare on display just for him.

"No!" He screamed. "I don't want to see anymore, Damien! Please!"

Before he knew it, Kyle was opening his eyes and he was back in Damien's hotel room, the waves pulsing far below. The sky was still devoid of stars, and all of a sudden he could remember reading something about the Devil having the power to sweep the very stars and sun from the sky. His head lolled on the back of the couch, his entire body feeling weighted down and completely spent. Kyle could still hear Mark crying and screaming, and he clutched at his head to make the memories go away.

"You'll never forget what you just saw, Kyle," a sinister voice spoke beside him. Kyle glanced up to see Damien watching and smiling, his eyes lit up with delight. "I'll make sure of that." He laughed. "You better believe Mark will never forget."

"How," Kyle gasped, trying to make sense of everything but losing his voice for a moment. "How could Mark go through that and still want to treat me the same way? I don't understand."

Damien crossed his legs and thought for a moment.

"Humans respond to trauma in different ways," he looked at Kyle, studying him. "I have a feeling you couldn't even imagine treating another person the way you've been treated. You couldn't make them suffer like that."

"No, never," Kyle replied, shuddering.

"That's the fundamental difference between you and Mark. Mark is a miserable human being and misery loves company." Damien shrugged. "Instead of learning from the experience and showing mercy to his fellow man, Mark would prefer that they hurt the same way he has. It's the only way he can keep going, I suppose; he needs his pound of flesh."

"So, he'll never stop," Kyle whispered, the dreadful passage of years spreading out before him. "He'll just continue to treat me this way, and Rebecca too."

"Oh, he'll get much worse, Kyle. I assure you." Damien steepled his hands together. "But you can still save yourself."

"Are you saying that you'll take Mark back? For me?" Kyle asked, gritting his teeth at the prospect of feeding Mark back into the jaws of the beast, even though he clearly deserved it. "Why don't you just take him? You clearly have the power."

"Oh, that wouldn't be any fun, Kyle," Damien replied. "Just imagine how he'd respond in the face of such a betrayal, you delivering him to me on a silver platter. Besides," he said, sounding bitter now. "I came so close to breaking him but no matter what I could never crush the serpent completely beneath my heel. I think if you had a hand in shackling him to my side again that would finally be enough to splinter him completely." He shivered a little. "Oh, what a glorious sight that would be. I've never had more fun with a mortal; Mark is truly an entity unto himself. Never has a human fought so hard and for so long."

"So, all I have to do is bring him here? Is that what you're saying?"

"Almost, but there's more," Damien replied.

"Of course there is," Kyle said, rolling his eyes and sighing.

Damien's hand slipped through the still air and came to rest on Kyle's cheek, making him recoil.

"I want a taste of you," he murmured, stroking his skin almost lovingly. "I want a chance to corrupt you; your innocent spirit. Nothing would give me greater pleasure."

"No," Kyle said, faintly. "I saw what you did to Mark. I could never agree to that. Isn't it enough that Mark's been torturing me for almost a year?"

"I'm only asking for one night, Kyle," Damien replied, cupping his chin. "I want to take you and see what you're capable of. If you can spend one night with me and not crack, I'll set you free and then I'll take possession of Mark again. You'll be in the clear."

"You couldn't make Mark break down so I doubt you could make me crack," Kyle said, feeling stupid for basically baiting a demon. "Besides, Mark still has information about me that he could give to the police. What's to stop him from doing that?"

Damien really started laughing now.

"The police should be the least of your concerns, Kyle. I've had them in my pocket for years. Besides, if Mark becomes my pet again, he wouldn't dare go against me if I give him a direct order to keep his mouth shut." He studied him for a moment and his eyes flamed red again, and now Kyle knew he wasn't just seeing things. "You've also piqued my interest, little one. I may have to treat you a little more roughly than I did with Mark." He smirked. "But, I'm a man of my word. Spend the night with me and we'll see what you're made of, and then you'll be free once and for all; if you can survive. What do you say?"

Kyle knew it was insane but he truly felt like he didn't know what to do. On the one hand he couldn't stomach the thought of being crushed under Mark's thumb for the rest of his life, but on the other he couldn't imagine feeding Mark back into Damien's clutches. He sighed, his mind whirring furiously as all of the dreadful possibilities tore through him.

"If you stay with him, I'd suggest you start picking out Stan's coffin now, by the way," Damien stated, his tone so calm you'd think he was talking about the weather. "You might as well get a jump on that, because it's coming, Kyle."

Before he could even wrap his head around these horrible words, Kyle was leaning forward and clutching at Damien's hand, fresh terror flowing through him like acid. His dream came back to him then, assaulting his brain: Stan with his head blown off, chips of bone shining and brain splattered against a white wall.

"I'll do it," Kyle said, holding onto the ice cold hand like it was a tether holding him to reality, though he was sure he had to have drifted off into another dimension entirely. "Please, save me."

A slow smile spread across Damien's face, as charming as an autopsy, and all at once he was pulling Kyle close, his lips coming to rest on the trembling boy's pink mouth. He kissed him deeply as Kyle started to cry, cold tears traveling down his cheeks and only serving to arouse Damien more. Abruptly, he bit Kyle's lip, making him cry out in pain and draw back, his green eyes wide and brimming with fear. A trail of his blood slid down Damien's chin, and the demon brought up a finger to catch a wayward drop, admiring it.

"I can't think of a better way to seal a pact," Damien murmured, licking the blood away. "Little lamb."

******

As Damien watched the sun slowly rise over the ocean, his mind was rife with delicious, beautiful possibilities, all of them serving to arouse him; his tongue drifting over lips that still tasted of the lamb's blood. Kyle had left just a few moments before, having stayed the night even though Damien hadn't touched him, not really. No, the real fun was coming, and he was practically frantic with desire and excitement.

The little redhead had been brutalized by a pet that had forgotten itself; a pet that had essentially become feral. There were certain types of creatures that seemed to fall apart, become wild, without the guidance of their masters, and clearly that was the case here.

"Mark," Damien said softly, the early morning sunlight pouring over him and making him wince. In a moment, he stepped back into the hotel room and drew the curtains, detesting the light and relishing in the quiet darkness. The only light he was interested in emanated from Kyle, and he was going to do his very best to snuff it out. A feeling of giddiness gripped him at what was to come, because there was more to his motivations than what he'd shared with Kyle.

"Do you need a drink?" Ari asked, walking into the room. She was dressed in a slight negligee, long hair piled into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. Damien smiled. Ariadne was the perfect assistant in so many respects, both in work and in the bedroom. He sat down and watched her with interest, the way the silk adorned to her flesh, almost becoming a part of her.

"An old fashioned would be perfect," Damien smiled. "To celebrate my acquisition."

"Hmm," she said, going to the wet bar. "I take it you made Kyle see reason."

"Naturally," he replied, watching her work. "The poor child has really been suffering at the hands of another one of my little projects. Such a pity."

"Mark," she said, simply. Coming over, she handed Damien a tumbler then sat, her long, slim legs crossed and enticing him to no small degree. She drank white wine, her eyes resting on his face. "I always knew he'd be back. You were always so distracted by him."

"He just wouldn't crack," Damien replied, taking a drink and letting the liquor coat his tongue. He would've preferred a drink prepared with innocent Kyle's blood, but maybe next time. "Out of all of my pets he was the most stubborn, but now, now I get another shot at him. And," he grinned, "I get a taste of Kyle at the same time."

"That should be interesting," she replied, picking at a piece of lint on her negligee. "Though I'm not sure I see the appeal in either of them."

He growled a little, sending her a warning. Maybe he'd allowed Ariadne to become too comfortable in his presence, talking out of turn in such a fashion.

"Forgive me, my Lord," she said, quickly. "I forgot myself."

"See that it doesn't happen again," he said, smoothly. "I'd hate to have to practice on you before finally sinking my nails into Kyle."

"Do you think you can make him break? Didn't Mark already manage to do that?"

Damien laughed, amused again.

"He's gotten very close, but Kyle is a fighter too," he said, sighing a little. An image was seared into his brain; flaming red hair and green eyes, those slender white arms, the fear fairly radiating from him in waves. Kyle was just the same as he always was, and Damien could remember him even as a child; so slight and always, always ready to argue. "I'll have fun with him, and the effect this'll have on Mark will be the thing that shatters him, I think."

"Oh?"

"Think about it," Damien replied, sipping his drink. "Mark hates me more than anyone, even more than his prick of a father, and when he finds out what I did with his property, his beloved Kyle, how do you think he'll respond?" He smirked. "He'll be destroyed when he realizes I've defiled what he considers his one true love," he sneered, rolling his eyes. "Mark understands love about as much as I do, I'm pretty sure."

"It sounds like you have everything figured out, sir," Ariadne said, relief at being back in his good graces evident in her voice.

"Of course I do," Damien replied, hating how the drink washed away the last lingering flavors of Kyle. "Even if I don't break the little lamb I'll get to enjoy taking a piece of his innocence, and he's the perfect weapon to use against Mark. He'll be the knife that I get to twist between Mark's ribs, and then he wouldn't even consider defying me again." He set his empty glass aside. "Besides, Kyle doesn't realize it but even though I'm only asking for one night, it won't end there."

"I'd imagine not," Ariadne replied. "You don't let go of your toys so easily."

"Never. No, I'll stay true to my word and only demand one night of Kyle's time, so long as he doesn't break, but I'll be in his blood forever. He may be able to escape Mark, but he'll never outrun me." Damien stretched a little. "I'll give him his freedom for awhile, though. I can only focus on one wayward pet at a time, can I?"


	40. Trials of Fire Cont. - Kyle/Damien/Mark's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: VIOLENCE! RAPE! ABUSE! READER DISCRETION STRONGLY ADVISED.
> 
> This took a different turn than I thought it would, but I'm happy with the results. Hmmm. Creation and destruction go hand in hand, I guess, and neither of them are easy, are they? 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! :)

**It has been a dream of mine to hold you in my arms**  
**To tell you that my love is true and shelter you from storms**  
**The road I chose a long time ago it led me from your door**  
**And now I am back from the shadows reign and I cannot love you more**  
  
**If heaven is not a place to go but is a state of mind**  
**I'll hold you in my thoughts forever through all time**  
  
**You see a soul in a tattered hat who's been out there for awhile**  
**And in my trials I've walked through fire now I wait to share your smile**

 **I know my roads have all run out I have nothing but words it's true**  
**Perhaps I can rhyme a few of them in a song for you**

**-Ray Wylie Hubbard, If Heaven is Not a Place to Go**

* * *

 

The waves were crashing against the shore as Kyle drank deeply of pink wine, the flavor lingering on his lips and sliding coolly down his throat. The cloudy skies were immense above him, full of swirling salt and frantic seabirds, riding the winds being carried in from the sea. Sighing, he studied the wine in his glass, and could see Mark sitting comfortably in the reflection of it; legs crossed as he looked out at the ocean, his eyes drifting over the horizon.

"I had hoped for better weather," he stated, his tone matter of fact. He didn't sound upset, just slightly annoyed; Kyle could live with that, at least Mark wasn't angry. Not yet, of course.

"At any rate, a loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou*," Mark continued, a smile in his voice as his hand drifted over to Kyle, a finger rubbing along his bare arm. Kyle had to fight the impulse to shiver at his touch, which was blessedly gentle. Mark had been so kind and soft the past few days, ever since Kyle had gone to see Damien and made a horrible promise. He couldn't be sure why Mark was suddenly being so charming, but he knew it couldn't last; it never did.

Mark had woken Kyle up that morning with a kiss on his cheek, telling him that he had a surprise for him out on the beach. Once Kyle was up and had asked for permission to dress, Mark had taken his hand and led him out through the patio doors to the beach, their bare feet passing through fine sand; soft against their soles. They had walked for awhile until they crested a sand dune and clumps of sea grass, and there, all freshly laid out, was a red checkered blanket spread with wine and food; bread, cheese, fruit, all waiting.

"I wanted to do something nice for you," Mark murmured as Kyle's eyes widened at the sight, the morning sunlight breaking through the clouds for a moment and catching a sparkle on the wine glasses. "You've been behaving so well lately," he continued, rolling his eyes with a smile, "for the most part, anyway, and this is my way of saying thank you."

Kyle hadn't had a response, had only glanced at Mark and then back at the picnic; heart thudding in his chest. What could he say to that, really?

"I love you so much," Mark said, leading Kyle over and instructing him to sit. "I hope you know that, Kyle."

Now Kyle was drinking his wine and gazing at the tumultuous sea, noting the similarities between it and the boy sitting beside him; the way it ebbed and flowed, changed courses and skittered between violence and stillness. Being with Mark was a pattern of affection followed by tension and finally, the cataclysm, which could be set off by almost anything. He was coming to realize that there was no way he could ever truly be behaved, because even Mark didn't seem to know what would make him completely content. All Kyle could do was wait for the next tipping point, the next occasion where he'd be told to get on his knees, torn apart, and then put back together by trembling, suddenly tender hands.

Kyle supposed that was the worst part of the whole situation, quiet moments like this one. It was at times like this, calm beach picnics in the early morning, where he could see with his own two eyes that Mark had the capability of being a decent person. He could recall the times when he was gentle, loving, and knew that there were parts of Mark that could be salvaged, but when he compared them to the darkness that raged in him as well, Kyle couldn't even begin to guess which side was stronger. It was this dichotomy in his nature that made Kyle's decision to send him back to Damien that much harder. He couldn't even be sure whether Mark had created himself or Damien had. Did it even matter at this point?

He knew he was being foolish, of course. Mark had all but promised to kill Stan, had made it very clear that he would continue to punish Kyle as he saw fit; that he had no intention of changing anytime soon. He didn't even see why he should even consider changing his ways, which frustrated Kyle to no end. He just couldn't help wanting to be merciful, even though Mark had never afforded him the same dignity. Kyle thought of Rebecca and her suffering too, and desperately wished that they could all just be happy and safe; that Mark would get the help he needed, and that the evil Damien had done and would continue to do would just disappear back into Hell.

"You're certainly being quiet this morning," Mark said suddenly, continuing to stroke Kyle's arm. "Anything you'd like to share?"

Kyle sighed. "I'm just wondering why nothing can ever be simple," he said, softly. "The world doesn't operate in shades of black and white, and no one's all good or all evil, are they?"

"Nothing's that cut and dry, Kyle," Mark replied, still stroking languidly. "Wouldn't the world be boring if it were like that though?"

"I guess, but it would make things a lot easier," Kyle murmured.

"What's this in reference to, anyway?"

"Human nature, I suppose."

Mark snickered a little. "You said I was a scorpion. Do you still feel that way?"

Kyle glanced at him, at the way the sea air tousled Mark's thick, brown hair and the sunlight catching the chestnut highlights; the way it made his skin glow. He was such a handsome predator, but that just made him more dangerous.

"No, that's the problem," he finally said, curling his legs up so he could rest his head on his knee. "Do you know what you are, Mark?"

This question seemed to take him by surprise, and Mark just studied Kyle for a moment, his hand still slowly pulling along his skin and the ocean roar filling up their ears. He smiled slowly, and Kyle considered it one of the most frightening and beautiful things he'd ever seen, because it could be taken in so many ways.

"Well, if you're the desecrated field that needs to be made whole again, I guess I'm the fire, aren't I?" He looked out at the sea, showcasing his aristocratic profile, the smile still playing on his lips. "I'd like to think I have the power to destroy someone and rebuild them. What do you think?"

"I don't think you should get to make those sorts of decisions for another person," Kyle replied, his voice trembling a little. "At least, not against their will."

"Well, I guess that's where we'll have to part company, huh?" Mark asked, turning back with soft, inviting eyes, so dark and full of awful promises; both good and bad. "Love makes people do crazy things, Kyle, and I love you so much that I'll do anything for you. Anything."

******

"Right on time," Damien purred, his eyes flowing over Kyle as he stood before him. "Perfect."

Kyle swallowed the moisture in his mouth, his brain wracked with fear and all-consuming dread. Once again he was in Damien's hotel room at the top of the world, the stars absent and the night sky a massive vortex of unforgiving darkness. He stood trembling as Damien's gaze raked over his body, making his clothes feel like nothing; feeling like the demon wasn't just looking past them to his skin but into his bones, his blood, his very soul.

Damien lifted a hand and pointed to the patio doors, to the eternity of black, a smile splitting his face and making Kyle shudder.

"If you can last until the sun rises, you can go about your way," Damien said, musical voice calm and methodical. "You can travel back to the arms of your beloved and forget all of this ugly business, and I'll take Mark back under my wing." He drew his hand away from the doors and held up one finger, Kyle's attention completely captured. "But, if you beg for mercy, even once, you're mine. Do you understand?"

Kyle nodded, terror building in him until he wanted to scream.

"There's another thing," Damien smiled. "Another condition. Do you want to know what it is?"

"Yes," Kyle stammered, voice getting caught in his suddenly dry throat. "Y-yes, please."

"Well, that's too bad, isn't it?" Damien said, eyes full of humor and malice. "The great thing about being an instrument of evil is that I don't have to lay out all of the rules to the games I like to play. Just be aware that there's more to this than meets the eye. That's the only warning I'm going to give you, so step wisely."

Kyle opened his mouth to protest but when he saw the red fire glowing in Damien's eyes, he decided against it. Instead, he clenched his fists at his sides while trying to muster up his last ounces of strength and courage; he knew he was going to need them.

Damien smirked and picked up another apple, so perfect that it almost looked fake, and rubbed his slender fingers along its red, glossy surface.

"You've walked such a long, painful road, Kyle," he said, long nails digging tiny canals in the flesh of the apple. "Aren't you about ready to stop and rest?"

Kyle gazed at the apple, almost able to taste it on his tongue, the sweet bitterness warring with his taste buds. He nodded again, and the weariness mixed with his fear and settled in his veins, dragging him down.

"Then, let's begin, shall we?" Damien asked, holding out the apple.

Kyle regarded it for a moment, took a deep breath, and reached out, praying for deliverance and salvation; even as the fear swept through him, black as the night sky pressing against the windows.

*****

When Kyle woke up all he could do was shiver, his body quaking as cold air assaulted him; every limb feeling like it was encased in ice. He looked down blearily and could see that he was naked and on his knees, his body wound in chains, unable to move and cover himself even though he desperately wanted to. Footsteps were coming toward him as he contemplated his bare flesh, and he had to fight back a sob as Damien stood before him, studying him like a butterfly pinned to a wall. Kyle could practically feel those eyes traveling over his body, and it was so much worse than when he did it while Kyle had been clothed; a million times worse.

Kyle looked into Damien's eyes and saw that they weren't black anymore, nor were they a straight crimson; no, they were a mixture of the two, the color of a pool of blood that had sat for awhile and was in the process of congealing. He shuddered; the thought making him think of autopsies and corpses and crime scenes. It was like he could see every awful thing in the world in those eyes, and all of that frenzied violence and hate was being wrapped up with desire and flames. Suddenly, he realized that these were the eyes that Mark would have to look into soon enough, should Kyle choose to give him back to Damien. Did he even have a choice at this point?

"So beautiful and perfect," Damien murmured, drawing closer. "It should be a sin to be so captivating, Kyle. Don't you think?"

All he could do was drop his head to look at the stone floor, his wrists and ankles aching from the shackles around them. With a wince, Kyle realized there was another collar around his throat but this one wasn't made of leather; no, it was made of heavy chain as well, biting into his skin. He yelped when he felt a strong hand grabbing his chin and jerking his face up, Damien's angry face mere inches away from his own.

"Let's make a few things clear right away," Damien said, his hot breath reeking of brimstone and gore as it slid over Kyle's skin. "When I ask you a question I expect you to answer, and you must never take your eyes from me. Not unless I tell you to." He shook Kyle's face until he whimpered. "Is that understood? Answer me, whore."

Quickly, Kyle nodded his head while fumbling out sticky words, his face aching from being held so tightly.

"Y-yes, I-I understand."

Damien smirked, bloodied eyes filling with pleasure. "Good. Now, don't you think it's a sin that you're so captivating? Hmm?"

Kyle thought a moment, terror making his mind sluggish. "I-I don't know," he answered, honestly.

"It certainly hasn't done you any favors, has it?" Damien asked, letting go of Kyle's chin and stroking along his cheekbone. Kyle gasped in pain; even the touch of Damien's skin against his own was like fire, searing him and making him want to scream. He gritted his teeth.

"Oh, might I add that my touch responds to my level of desire," Damien said, still rubbing along Kyle's skin. "Burns, doesn't it?"

"Yes!" Kyle gasped, feeling like he was going to burst into flames at any moment. He made the mistake of closing his eyes against the pain but a brutal slap brought him back to himself.

"Didn't I tell you that you weren't to stop looking at me?" Damien seethed.

Kyle sobbed. "I'm s-sorry," he broke out, skin burning hotly. He tried to pull against his restraints but it was no use; he was completely trapped.

"A whore apologizing, how rich," Damien replied. "Stand up."

Kyle complied as quickly as he could, terrified of the consequences if he didn't. For a moment he almost wanted to thank Mark for training him in the ways of capitulation, but then he realized that was utterly insane. He wouldn't be in this situation if not for him; the thought filled him with sudden fury.

"You hate him, don't you?" Damien asked, walking around his prey and dragging a finger over every available surface. He appraised Kyle like he would a diamond or the way a slave owner would have studied a slave hundreds of years ago; assessing the merchandise and giving it a price. Kyle gasped as those fiery hands slid over his skin, leaving trails of heat and making him weak with pain.

"I can practically feel it radiating off of you, Kyle," Damien murmured, his finger trailing over his spine. "The hatred you have for Mark. You want to see him suffer, don't you?"

Kyle shook his head, tears beginning to drip down his face; from the pain, from the humiliation of being naked with this sadist, at thoughts of Mark.

"No, I-I just want him to leave me alone," Kyle sobbed. "I want him to get help and just stop hurting people."

"That can't be true," Damien sneered, coming back around. He reached out and wound his fingers through Kyle's hair and ripped his head back, exposing his throat. He licked at the creamy skin and Kyle couldn't help but scream; Damien's tongue was even more agonizing than his skin. He drew away. "If it were, you wouldn't be here, right?"

"I just didn't see any other way," Kyle replied, wincing against the stinging agony of Damien's tongue lapping at his already tender flesh. "I can't reason with him...I..."

"You couldn't take it anymore, so you want to give him back to Hell, hmm?"

"No! I just want my life back!" Kyle screamed, the agony and fear reaching a fever pitch in his brain.

Damien let go and stepped back, smiling; a demon's version of a smile, at any rate. It was a serial killer's knife, a child molester's sick predilections, bombs detonating and tearing families and countries apart; cries in the dark and innocent blood being shed for land and political aspirations, all of the evil in the world.

"Do you want to know what's so wonderful about the apple I served you?" Damien asked, coming around and resting his chin on Kyle's shoulder, making him cringe.

"N-no," Kyle whispered. "What?"

"It has the capability of opening up your eyes and making you see the truth, not just for the things I did to Mark, but for the things he did to you. Would you like to see?" His hand snaked around and cupped Kyle's chin.

Kyle shook his head, desperation and revulsion flaring inside of him. "No! Please!"

Damien laughed. "Like you had a choice." He snapped his fingers.

All at once, their surroundings changed, and Kyle saw that he was back in Mark's bedroom where nighttime had already fallen behind the balcony doors. The blue-green light of the fish tank was back, and he could hear a shower running as Mark fiddled with a bottle, opening it. His eyes widened as he watched Mark fishing out a pill and stowing the bottle back in a drawer. He turned and picked up a waiting bottle of water, uncapped it, then -

"No," Kyle whimpered. "This can't be -"

"Yes," Damien purred, holding Kyle's head up and straight. "The very first night, when you fell into Mark's initial trap." He laughed, his fingers squeezing Kyle's face tighter.

In horror, Kyle watched as Mark dropped the pill into the water and shook it, helping it dissolve. Then, in a moment of utter surrealism, he watched himself coming out of the bathroom, fresh from the shower, and then Mark disappearing into the bathroom to bathe as well. The scene jumped forward and then Kyle saw himself accepting that same bottle of water from Mark, and drinking deeply of its contents. He'd never realized just how closely Mark had watched him as he drank, and this new knowledge made Kyle feel overwhelmingly nauseous. He hung his head, not wanting to see another moment of this horrible play unfolding.

"Uh uh uh," Damien said, yanking his head back up. "It's just getting good. Watch."

For a crazy moment Kyle considered just shutting his eyes, but he knew Damien would sooner gouge them out then let him close them, so he watched; hating every moment. The scene changed and now Kyle could see himself in Mark's bed, Mark drawing closer and shaking him a little. The Kyle in the bed didn't stir, only moaned a little, unable to fight away from Mark as he started undressing him, his eyes and hands roving over Kyle's naked, unresponsive body. He squeezed him roughly, kissed along his flesh and held him close, and all past Kyle could do was lay there and whimper on occasion, lost in his own world of dreams and hallucinations.

"So perfect," Mark murmured, drawing Kyle close and kissing his slack lips.

Kyle almost gagged and pushed back against Damien. "Please, no more...I can't stand to see this!"

"Are you asking for mercy, little one?" Damien asked, an icy edge appearing in his voice.

Kyle froze, eyes wide. "No, no, I just -"

"You just want to see more, don't you? I can arrange that," Damien laughed, snapping his fingers again.

The scene shimmered and changed again, and Kyle could see that they were still in Mark's bedroom. This time, Kyle was handcuffed face down on the bed, each arm attached to the corners of the headboard. He could hear himself screaming as Mark bit him, his teeth tearing into the tender skin on Kyle's backside, the blood coursing down his legs and staining the comforter. With growing revulsion and terror, coupled with a terrible sorrow Kyle watched himself suffering through several lashes of the belt as Mark beat him; could hear himself finally breaking and crying, the sobs crawling through the air and making it so cold.

He tried to turn his face when it came to Mark unzipping his jeans and releasing himself, when he knelt on the bed and prepared Kyle by dipping his fingers inside of him; preparing him to be taken against his will.

"I can't," Kyle sobbed, looking away for a fraction of a moment. "I can't watch him do this to me."

Damien jerked his head forward anyway and forced Kyle to watch every moment. Mark thrusting into him until Kyle begged for him to stop.

"It's so much worse when you have to step back and see it with your own eyes, isn't it?" Damien asked, his voice soft and eerily hypnotic. "It's like a movie straight from Hell, isn't it?" He laughed as Kyle shuddered. "You know, it really needs some background music, don't you think? Your movie? Let me see." He thought a moment. "Oh, I know...a very romantic, pretty song would fit best." He started to hum and then started singing softly, a lilting melody that in any other situation would be bewitching; soothing, almost. _"Tell me when will you be mine? Tell me quando, quando, quando? We can share a love divine. Please don't make me wait again...."_

Kyle could only cry, his fresh sobs breaking through Damien's song and making the demon laugh. He snapped his fingers again and the sound of it resounded through Mark's room, through the memory, and it dissolved away until they were back in the cavernous room from before. Kyle was still in his chains, Damien behind him, and vaguely he was aware of another change, a hardness that made his heart pound like a rabbit's; threatening to burst.

"Usually I like to draw this out a little more, but I'm afraid I just can't wait, little one. You're just too tempting, too sweet," Damien murmured, kissing along Kyle's neck and setting it on fire again. He murmured unknown words that rang like dark music in the air, and all at once Kyle was being released from his constraints, though the chain collar remained, its heaviness pulling him toward the floor. Damien wrapped the end of the chain around his hand and led Kyle forward, his hands and knees scraping against the hard, stone floor.

Damien snapped his fingers yet again, and a massive bed appeared, its posts and frame made of dark wood; a canopy of deep red fabric covering the top, floating down in waves. A comforter lay across it, and in the dim lighting of the room Kyle's eyes widened to see that it was studded with hard, glittering gems. He looked up at Damien with new fear.

Damien yanked on Kyle's chain and smirked. "Up you go," he said, pointing toward the bed. His face became hard, some of the mirth evaporating from his eyes. "Now." He jerked on Kyle again and made him yelp, stumbling a little.

Trembling, Kyle crawled to the bed and rose, gripping the comforter and gasping as the gems sliced into his fingers as soon as he touched them. He hesitated for a moment, fear and pain assaulting him, until Damien reached out and laid a hand across his neck, the touch soft but quickly becoming harder. Quickly, Kyle kept moving, and he dragged his body across the comforter, the gems ripping his hands and legs and making them bleed. He gasped against the pain, biting his lip.

"Such an obedient whore," Damien said, climbing onto the bed as well. Kyle noticed with anger that the gems didn't bother the demon at all, but he couldn't say he was surprised; Damien was in his element, after all. "Mark trained you so well, but he didn't break you, did he? Not completely?"

Damien pushed Kyle onto his back and he arched up in agony when the gems sliced into his skin again, and more tears were falling down the sides of his face, blurring his vision. The demon straddled Kyle's hips and smiled as he spread his clawed hands along the bare, white chest beneath him, feeling the delicate ribs and the breastbone; the throbbing, pulsing heart beating at the core. Long fingernails tore across tender skin, opening it and adding more blood to the recipe of agony he was concocting with abandon.

"It's almost time," Damien murmured, leaning forward and brushing searing kisses against Kyle's neck. Softly, he snapped his fingers again, but this time Kyle was screaming so loud he didn't hear.

******

Across the miles Mark awoke, a distant sound breaking into his slumber and jarring him from its depths. A foreign heat, a pulse, was alive in his chest and brain, and all at once he knew he was needed elsewhere. Looking over, he saw that the bed was empty and Kyle was gone, and the anger started to collect, the red rage growing and gathering force. Somehow, Mark knew that his beloved wasn't in the house, that he'd have to go to wherever he was and bring him home; bring him in line. All at once, he wanted to hold Kyle close even as he wanted to punish him and make him scream. He turned to look at the sky and saw that the full moon was still alive and bright, but it was moving swiftly toward the horizon; it was very late at night, and his Kyle was gone. This knowledge made the anger increase tenfold.

There was a strange feeling in Mark's blood as he rose from the bed and dressed, the clean moonlight falling over the floor and icing it; illuminating everything and making the room appear frozen. He shook off the last lingering vestiges of sleep, a strange sleep, as he moved out of the room and towards Rebecca's door. He hadn't been sleeping badly, just deeply, and when he woke up in the mornings he could never remember anything, almost like he'd been dead for the past several hours. Not bothering to knock, he walked into his sister's room and saw that she was tossing and turning, almost like she knew she was about to be disturbed. He couldn't say how, but he knew she had played a part in all of this; she knew where Kyle was, and she was going to take Mark to him.

"Wake up," Mark murmured, reaching out a hand and wrapping it around her wrist, squeezing softly.

In a moment, terrified hazel eyes flew open and they slid upward, taking in Mark's calm, moon-tinged face, and she started to tremble.

"Take me to Kyle," Mark said, his grip becoming harder. "You know where he is."

It wasn't a question because he knew. Mark couldn't say why or how he knew, he just did. Wordlessly, Rebecca got out of bed, watching her brother with wide eyes the whole time, and began to dress. As they left the house and got into the car, Mark couldn't help but notice the strange sensation in his blood becoming stronger, and now it felt like a fire slowly building, the heat slow-growing in his veins with every mile. He could remember feeling this way before, long ago, but it had hurt so much worse then; this was merely a taste of the agony from the past.

He waved the thoughts away because they were pure insanity. That chapter of his life was over, had become a book that was written and completed; a story he had no intention of ever reading again.

******

Kyle could feel Damien getting closer and closer to his inevitable conclusion, his awful hands scraping over his skin and sullying it forever; leaving a layer of filth that could never be scrubbed away. He whimpered as he felt his body being explored, private areas being brought into the light, and it was like every time Mark had ever touched him without permission, stepped over all of his boundaries like they didn't exist. Kyle tried to think of Stan as he often did in these situations, but the powers of Damien's darkness invaded his brain and turned the contents to dirty moat water; filled to the brim with everything wrong in the world. For once, he couldn't conjure up golden afternoons and sweet kisses, and he sobbed to know he was utterly alone and lost.

"Beautiful little whore," Damien murmured, stroking along Kyle's thighs and spreading him. "So sad and crying such pure tears." He licked one and snickered. "You're thinking of your one true love, aren't you? But is he thinking of you?"

"He's always thinking about me," Kyle replied, voice trembling and thick with tears. "I'm with him even when we're apart...I can always feel his arms around me." His head snapped back as a sharp claw tore into his opening, preparing him for the worst.

"You'd be in his arms right now if Mark hadn't tried to destroy you," Damien murmured close to Kyle's ear, his breath stroking his skin and making him want to vomit. "Now you have your opportunity to send him back where he belongs, so long as you don't fuck it all up. Doesn't that excite you?"

"I thought it would," Kyle gasped out, breathy little notes of pain burning through him as Damien slid another dry finger inside of his body, stretching him out. "But, no. I couldn't wish this on anyone, regardless of what's been done to me."

Damien reared back, his face contorted with anger. "How can you say that, you fool? Did you forget what he's done? For fuck's sake, I just showed you what he did!"

Kyle could feel a stillness, a blankness stealing over him as Damien continued to violate his body, but along with it came a spreading peace; an epiphany that seemed to always be waiting in the wings. He knew that Mark and Damien could destroy his body, burn it to pieces, tear it apart, but he had final say over his heart and his soul. Kyle realized that the fundamental, most important truth of everything, the very heartbeat of the universe, rested inside of him, in his ability to maintain his humanity. He supposed he'd known this all along, how else had he managed to survive for so long in the face of so many atrocities?

"You can't really touch me, Damien," Kyle managed to say, even as the fires started to burn through him completely; raging over the streams and meadows of his body, wiping everything away and leaving him naked and bare. It was almost like being reborn in fire, and he could only hope that he could come back better than he was before; wiser and less inclined to walk willingly into the lion's den. "I thought I wanted to be like you and Mark because it would be easier, but now I know it would actually be so much harder. I'd like to think there's actually hope for Mark, somehow."

"Let's see how easy it is for you to hold onto this insipid Messiah Complex when I'm burning you from the inside out," Damien seethed, opening his pants and drawing himself out. In a moment, he was poised at Kyle's entrance and looking deep into his eyes, and Kyle could barely comprehend so much malevolence being trapped in one being; and it was like being clutched in the arms of the darkest night of the world.

"You don't have to do this," Kyle trembled, crying and daring to push against Damien. The hateful gems were still at his back, tearing it apart as Damien shoved his legs further apart. "You could still let Mark and I go; just forget about us. I never should've come to you for help."

Damien could only laugh as he thrust into Kyle; one brutal shove and he was inside, the fire licking through Kyle's body and making him shriek until his voice gave out. For a moment, Kyle could only stay still as he felt his body being invaded and torn apart, the heat so intense that he thought the sun had merged with his body and he was going to combust. His eyes were wide but they were unseeing, and he was trapped in Damien's embrace, the fire and the night fighting for precedence as he felt his heart and mind crumble to ash.

"How could I ever let this go?" Damien asked, moving a little and the sensation was akin to a knife tipped with blood and fire. "You're perfect, Kyle. I never knew I could find an angel wrapped in the skin of a harlot." He kissed along Kyle's neck tenderly. "The most perfect lamb in the flock."

*******

Why wasn't he caving? Why wasn't he begging to have Mark take his place? How could this waif, this mere child, be so strong and resilient? Damien could look into Kyle's eyes and see the agony inside of them with every thrust, and the green was becoming less vivid and dying with every intrusion. He could see it!

Damien continued to fuck Kyle brutally, every stroke a lick of flame engulfing the redhead and making him scream until he had no voice left, only hoarse rasps being produced from a parched and strained throat. He watched that agonized face and he knew that Kyle was dying a million deaths inside of his brain, and Damien added to his trauma by manipulating his weakened mind, and making it flood with every memory of Mark's atrocities. He knew it had worked as Kyle began to sob, trying to fight back weakly even though he had no chance of escaping Damien's designs.

"Yes, remember," he said, thrusting faster now. "Remember everything he did."

"No," Kyle cried, and he was thrashing his head from side to side; no doubt to rid himself of the horrible recollections.

"Shh," Damien murmured, and now his touch was tender as he stroked Kyle's tear-stained face. "This is what you need to see, so you'll make the right decision."

With every ounce of influence he was capable of, Damien invaded Kyle's body and mind, and filling it with every secret horror possible. He could feel the little lamb starting to break apart beneath him, but he still seemed so strong, so impenetrable. Damien had not anticipated this, and he could feel his anger growing because his plan was not proceeding in the direction he had laid out. In order to possess Kyle completely he needed him to give into the darkness the way Mark had, and he kept coming up against a clear, pure light; the light of love and forgiveness. How he fucking hated it!

He smirked, knowing that the siren call he'd sent out had no doubt reached Mark's brain and triggered him awake. Damien could feel his pet moving closer, and soon he too would be beckoned back into the spider's web, and he could see what was being done to his little plaything; his supposed lover. He had wanted Mark to witness the breakdown of Kyle in all its glory, but he couldn't have foreseen Kyle struggling so much; not allowing the demon to access him completely, fill him up all the way. Never had he seen a mortal fight against the darkness so ardently, and this knowledge made Damien sick.

 _Mark was so easy,_ Damien seethed, driving relentlessly into that taut, white flesh. _He already wanted to hurt people, I just had to tap into his natural impulses and manipulate them. But Kyle isn't like that...he wants to do the right thing. He thrives on being good._

Damien could feel his anger reaching a point where he might actually kill Kyle, even though he really didn't want that to happen. As he continued to fuck the innocent waif, pink mouth parted in agony, Damien could see that Mark and Kyle existed on opposite sides of the spectrum entirely. He had been able to break down Mark's mind because it had already been ready for the plucking, to be taken in by violence, but he'd never been able to destroy his body completely. With Kyle, Damien could see himself very easily crushing the bones and flesh to dust, but he was starting to see that there was a light inside of Kyle's mind that no amount of abuse or mistreatment could ever make go out. The bulb may be dimmed for a time, but the demon was starting to see that it could probably never be extinguished.

******

Mark contemplated the white doors and knew that he had absolutely no desire to meet what was on the other side. The heat in his blood was sending him into an agonized fury now, and something inside of his brain told him that to open the door was akin to unlocking his own personal cage. The smell of the past was all over this place, and even though he had demanded that Rebecca tell him the truth, she had refused.

"I can't tell you, Mark," she'd said. "I promised Kyle, and I'm not breaking that promise. He's been through enough."

He could only scoff at that bullshit. What the fuck did she even mean 'he's been through enough'? Mark loved Kyle completely, couldn't she see that? He loved Kyle the way he loved his sister; utterly and completely. Forever. At the end of it, he still couldn't get any actual information out of her, although she had reluctantly supplied a room number.

Now Mark was regarding the door and mulling over its contents, but a vague terror was crawling through him as the fire raged on. This was all too familiar, too terrifying to consider, and if he hadn't been searching for his Kyle, he would've turned around and gone home. But he couldn't do that, especially when he had to know where his beloved was. Who knew what kind of trouble Kyle was getting into? When was he ever going to learn?

Thoughts of that morning's picnic flitted through Mark's head as he rapped at the door, waiting for an answer. After they'd finished their food and waded up to their ankles in the surf, Mark had taken Kyle back to the room and laid him down among the pillows and soft blankets, where he'd tenderly made love to him for hours. There hadn't been any pain or punishment, and it had been wonderful, all of that love wrapping around them and filling them up. Kyle had placed his sweat-tinged head against Mark's chest afterward, his gorgeous red curls draped soft and full on his skin, and sighed a little, and that sound had filled Mark with so much happiness. That's how he wanted it to be for them always, if Kyle would just behave and understand what was meant to be.

The door opened and a hateful and earth-shattering face from the past was standing there, staring straight into Mark's eyes.

"Ariadne," Mark whispered, and he could feel all the color and warmth draining away from his face as fear gripped him.

She smiled and it was like a spider's chelicerae parting.

"Mark," she said, her voice soothing and capable of drawing sailors to their deaths; a sound heard on distant island shores. "It's been so long. Mr. Thorn is expecting you."

*****

Through the agony Kyle was aware that Damien was speeding up, and he prayed with all of his being that it would all be over soon. Every part of his body was consumed by fire, and he was convinced that there was nothing left to burn before he'd disappear completely. He could feel his brain unraveling from the torment of being filled by Damien, but the sweet peace of knowing his soul was still intact provided some comfort; meager and small but still there. Memories had filled his mind at one point detailing all of Mark's cruelties, but even these images hadn't torn apart his inner peace. Maybe the field could be burned to ash, but Kyle could decide what grew in its soil; in his heart.

 _How could I have ever thought that I could be like them?_ He thought, as his suffering increased with every ember that flowed through his decimated body. _That would mean that Mark has won completely, and I can't let that happen._

Damien grunted above him and now his claws were digging into Kyle's thighs with a ferocity that left him breathless.

"He's here," he said as he continued to thrust, but now he seemed to be taken over by a frenzy, and his pace increased again. Kyle could only lay back feeling completely lost as the gems on the comforter dug into his flesh and continued ripping it asunder.

"W-who?" He managed to say, the pain almost stealing his voice entirely now.

"You'll see," Damien replied, the excitement seeming to push him over the edge and he was shuddering violently as he came deep inside of Kyle. Kyle writhed in anguish as the demon's molten heat splashed inside of him, and it was like being dipped into the blue heart of a raging fire; a million candles being lit in unison and being pressed into his flesh all at once. For a moment he teetered on the edge of an abyss, nearly toppling over and falling into the darkness where the pain couldn't follow him.

Damien laughed and slapped him smartly, bringing Kyle back to himself somewhat.

"There's no time for you to pass out, little princess," he cooed, kissing along Kyle's cheek and up into his hair. He twisted a curl. "You know, Mary Magdalene was often portrayed in paintings with red hair, my little whore," he said idly, smirking.

Kyle was fading again, but he shook himself. "Her h-hair color was never mentioned in t-the Bible," he said. "And you should know that she was not a p-prostitute. That's a m-misconception."

"Mm, such a learned little lamb. Why am I not surprised?" Damien asked, pulling him close. He drew back and looked into Kyle's eyes, and he could see that the congealed color was fading, leaving the blackness only. "Shall we go and greet our guest?"

"D-do I have a c-choice?" Kyle asked, the fires receding now but still burning within him. His voice was so hoarse he barely recognized himself.

"Of course not," Damien replied, yanking on a curl now. "But evil is nothing if not polite, Kyle. You'd do well to learn that."

******

**Damien.**

So, that was the late night adulterer Kyle had slipped out to see; the stalker that waited in shadows to pull in hapless fools. The trapdoor spider of the past that had once feasted on Mark's blood and bones.

 _It would be him,_ Mark thought as he waited, the patio doors open to the night and the ocean. Vaguely, he could see glimmers of dawn on the horizon, and he couldn't imagine sunlight mixing with Damien. Their meetings had always been at night or in an underground cavern on the outskirts of Hell, the flames licking at the door. How did Kyle...?

**Becky.**

Mark could've laughed at the betrayal even as its knife plunged into the deepest recesses of his heart. How could she? How could Kyle? The conspirators were afoot again, it would seem; the snakes in the grass waiting to strike and bite. Well, they'd certainly found a way to hit him where it hurt. Shaking his head, Mark could only lapse into anger-filled terror, his hands clenching into shaking fists on his lap.

He'd considered just walking away, but he knew leaving Damien's hotel room would be easier said than done, especially with Ari, Satan's secretary, keeping watch at the door. Besides, Mark had always prided himself on facing shit like this head on, never letting slip that his heart was pounding with fear so deep it nearly sunk into his bones. Not to mention the fact that he loved Kyle desperately, even though he wanted to punish him more viciously than ever before for straying so far into the dark. What the fuck was he thinking getting tangled up with Damien?

No, all he could do was wait now, and see where the chips would fall. Perhaps by the grace of God they'd both escape from this unscathed, though Mark highly doubted it; Damien did not relinquish his pets so easily, and he had no doubt that Kyle would make the perfect plaything for a demon.

*****

Kyle opened his eyes and he was gone from the cavern, his back no longer pressed against the gem-encrusted comforter, though he could feel the blood slipping down his back to mix with the gore dripping down his hips and thighs. Damien's essence, whatever it could be considered, was oozing out of him and burning still as it found its way down his legs. Looking down, Kyle could see that his body was ravaged and war-torn, a mere shadow of what it used to be; even after Mark's carnage. He carried around so many scars and wounds these days, both on the inside and on the outside; so many reminders of this awful journey that he barely recognized himself anymore.

Blinking, he looked up from himself, finally able to tear his eyes away from the visual reminders of his agony, and saw that he was back in Damien's hotel room, and -

"Mark," he gasped, his eyes widening as tremors started breaking through him like the waves crashing against the sand so far below. "W-what are you doing here?"

Mark stood and Kyle couldn't help but recoil at the look in his dark eyes, the rage and sadness turning them almost black. He'd been prepared to confront Mark's ire, but he hadn't even considered the sorrow when he saw Kyle's betrayal; sending him headlong, back into the jaws of the beast. Kyle had always thought that he would feel so vindicated when he finally managed to have the upper hand, but now he just felt broken and destroyed; over this, over absolutely everything.

"I could be asking you the same thing, Kyle," Mark said, coming closer. Even from a distance, Kyle could tell he was afraid, and the effect was so foreign on Mark's handsome face that he could feel reality slipping a little as he knew it. They regarded each other for a moment before Kyle's face was yanked to the side, and Damien was feverishly kissing his aching lips. Through a growing haze, Kyle could hear Mark's sharp intake of breath. Cold tears fell down his skin as Damien kissed him deeply, a curved canine sinking into his lip and drawing blood.

Damien pulled away and wiped a hand across his mouth, clearing it of Kyle's blood. A strong arm came and settled on Kyle's waist, pulling him close. He whimpered as Mark watched with caustic, angry eyes, his rage seemingly growing as every second passed.

"Welcome home, pet," Damien smirked, his voice floating into the room and somehow making it colder. "It's been too long, wouldn't you say?"

"You dirty fucking jackal," Mark sneered. "Get your disgusting hands off of him."

"Mmm, you've never been good at sharing your toys, have you?" Damien asked, cupping Kyle's face and kissing his cheek softly. "Besides, I've already tasted him and I must say, he was even sweeter than you were the first time." He whispered into Kyle's ear but made sure he was loud enough for Mark to hear. "Did Mark tell you I stole his innocence? I was the first person to, shall we say, explore his borders." He laughed softly, his breath striking Kyle's skin and making him wince.

"You had the pleasure of fucking an innocent virgin, you shit pile," Mark snapped, his eyes straying to Kyle's face. "He already knows that, so stop trying to shock everyone. Fucking let him go!"

Damien turned to him and smirked, his claws sinking into Kyle's naked waist. "Why would I let him go? Kyle wants to be here." He squeezed Kyle's skin with burning fingers. "Isn't that right, little whore? Tell him yourself."

"Kyle, what's going on?" Mark asked, ire and confusion muddling his face.

Kyle didn't know what he could possibly say to explain his position, so he stayed silent. Ruthlessly, Damien ripped his hand from Kyle's waist and settled it on the back of his neck, gripping harshly. "Tell him, lamb. Now."

"I-I wanted to meet with Damien, Mark," Kyle choked out, tears coursing down his cheeks. "I asked him to help me."

"Why did you need my help?" Damien prodded him, his nails digging in and ripping soft flesh. Rivers of blood fell down the back of Kyle's neck making him cry out from the pain.

Kyle bit his lip and looked down at the floor, suddenly filled with shame at being so ruthless. He knew that Mark was a desperate monster, overcome with his own darkness and need to dominate Kyle completely, but how could he have stooped so low? Desperation truly made people do crazy, senseless things. Looking up, he saw Mark's dark eyes searching him, demanding answers. Distantly, behind him, Kyle could see a faint glimmer shining at the edge of the world; the sun was slowly waking up.

"I asked him to take you back," Kyle whispered, hating the cruelty of the words. "I-I couldn't take anymore of what you were doing, Mark. Blackmailing me and Rebecca, beating me, humiliating me...I just couldn't."

A stillness filled up the room after he spoke that almost had a numbing quality. Sea breezes whipped through the windows, pushing past the curtains and making them ruffle, as the raw power of the sea surged in tireless hypnotic patterns. Kyle finally managed to look up, and he could see that Mark was still watching him, his eyes narrowed and full of rage and that ever-present sadness. He took a shuddering breath and spoke, breaking across the the sounds of the sea.

"But I love you, Kyle," he said, and the words nearly had the power to break Kyle's heart; even after everything. Why did the human heart work like that? How did it have the capacity to harbor so much hate and so much love, so much endless compassion? Kyle could never possibly understand.

A sob tore from Kyle's mouth and suddenly he could remember every gentle kiss and word, warm baths and being cared for when he was sick, sharing glasses of pink wine as the sun rose over the beach and constellations swimming in the night skies. He could see the silver stars hanging in Mark's eyes and he wanted to cry for both of them because nothing could ever be simple. Kyle knew that on the other side of the glittering coin were the bruises and the fear and Mark's overwhelming need to consume and control him completely, but he knew that if he sent the terrible parts of him to Hell the good parts would go along and be destroyed as well.

Damien laughed derisively at Mark's words as Kyle tried to find his own. "Love? You love him, Mark?" He scoffed, pulling Kyle closer. "You don't know the first meaning of what it is to love someone; stop deluding yourself." Damien turned to Kyle and whispered in his ear again. "Don't forget the fact that he beat you and raped you, Kyle. He threatened, no, he intends to kill Stan, and after all, isn't he your one true love?"

"That isn't true," Mark growled, hearing Stan's name and immediately becoming savage. "That son of a bitch could never love Kyle the way I do."

"See?" Damien grinned against Kyle's cheek. "His intentions are written all over his face. After everything, how can you have even an ounce of forgiveness for such a monster?"

"I don't know," Kyle whispered, and it was true. He had no idea how he could be so conflicted. He just knew that this was wrong; the world had enough hate in it, didn't it?

Damien growled softly next to his ear, and immediately Kyle was filled with an intense dread. All of a sudden, Damien was brutally pushing Kyle to the floor and kicking him sharply, making him scream and try to protect himself.

"Well, you better fucking figure it out, whore," Damien seethed. "Because I'm losing my patience with you."

Kyle just lay on the floor drowning in a multitude of agonies, all of them threatening to tear him apart and leave him as a cowering pile of bones. He wanted so desperately to save himself, to save Mark, but he didn't know how. He was completely convinced that a scorpion couldn't change its nature and he could accept that, but was Mark the same? Could he really not be salvaged? Did he really want to be responsible for sending another person into their final agony? How could he live with himself? Once again, he had to remind himself that it was his flesh that had been destroyed, not his soul, not his essence; Kyle still had to live with himself at the end of the day, and how did he expect to do that with a tarnished spirit?

Gasping from the pain, Kyle managed to make his way to his feet, tracks of crimson falling down his body. For a moment he swayed on the spot but managed to keep his footing, and with aching feet he walked toward Mark, every step feeling like his soles were studded with knives. Golden sunlight flooded the crack between the sea and the sky as he made his way to Mark, and with the last of his strength Kyle reached out his hands and placed them on his shoulders, holding him tightly as raspy breaths poured out of his mouth.

"I forgive you, Mark," Kyle said, and when the words fell over his lips and into the air the clearest, purest warmth flooded his senses, making him reel a little. He momentarily felt revitalized as his body trembled with pain, and he continued to hold onto Mark, even as his remaining strength quickly fled away. "I forgive you for everything."

Mark could only stare at him with wide eyes and a face flooded with confusion, and Kyle felt a deep sadness that twisted wetly inside of his heart. Mark couldn't possibly understand because his conscience wouldn't allow him to, not at the moment at least, but maybe someday...someday....

A horrific screech of pure, unadulterated rage tore through the air like a dagger as Kyle clung to Mark, just as the sun crested the horizon and started to rise. Turning, Kyle could see Damien engulfed in flames of orange and crimson, seething hotly with a look of unbridled fury on his face. Kyle could feel the heat of his rage from across the room, and it threatened to consume him entirely.

"Damien, what -"

"Shut up, whore," Damien whispered, his voice loaded with malice and relentless ire. "You've bested me, but that doesn't mean you get to gloat about it. Now, get out."

"I don't understand," Kyle said, drawing back and trying to protect himself from the angry demon.

"Of course you don't," Damien spat. "You're too pure, too good. You make me sick." He took a deep breath, attempting to collect himself, but the effort was minute. "But I'm a man of my word so I'll take care of your problem." He nodded his head at Mark. "Now get the fuck out; I can't stand being near you."

Kyle grabbed onto Mark. "I've changed my mind, though. I know Mark needs help, but -"

Damien advanced on him in a moment, making Kyle cry out and back away toward the sunlight beginning to pour in through the windows like golden syrup.

"He's mine," Damien said, each word clipped. "You lost him the moment you sought out my help. Now run back to your beloved while I start retraining my pet."

"No, please!" Mark cried, all of the color draining from his face. "Please, Master!"

Damien turned to him and smirked, his eyes dead and lifeless stars twisting in space.  
  
"Welcome back to Hell, pet. I'm pretty sure it's exactly where you belong."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The Rubaiyat by Omar Khayyam


	41. Darkness Awakening: Kyle/Mark's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, it's been awhile, you guys! Hopefully, someone's still reading this insanity. xD
> 
> Sorry, I know this is short, but I'm getting back into the groove of this story. Also, if you were hoping for a happy ending or anything like that, sorry to disappoint you. This entire story is an exercise in making the characters suffer, so....
> 
> Anyway, enjoy. 
> 
> PS: Mark, you're still a fucking psycho. Also, I simply adore Damien; this is a fact that cannot be denied.
> 
> Buckle up, kiddos. Shit's gonna get real again. :D

It had rained everyday since Kyle regained his freedom.

Ever since the sunshine had washed over him in Damien's hotel room as he handed Mark back to Hell, the clouds had covered the sky and rain fell in sheets. Every drop was like a shard of glass as he stared out Stan's bedroom window, his hand pushing back the curtains as he watched them fall. Stan was lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling, a semi-peaceful stillness seeping through the room as they listened to the rainfall drum on the roof. It was getting to the point where Kyle thought he may never see the sun again, which was just as well, all things considered.

"Why won't you tell me what happened?" Stan asked out of nowhere, his voice soft and careful as it breached the quiet.

Kyle turned from the window and let the curtain drop, his entire spirit deluged in an inexplicable sadness. He just couldn't seem to make sense of his own emotions these days. He'd won, Mark was gone, he was finally free; shouldn't he be happy?

All he could think of and imagine was Mark's look of rage and utter betrayal as Damien had forced him from the room; his eyes ablaze with fury because Kyle had somehow bested him. Kyle still wasn't sure how he'd managed to outfox the demon, but he did know he didn't feel even remotely proud of his actions. He'd played dirty, he'd been underhanded, he'd been ruthless.

In short, he'd acted like Mark, and this was a fact that he could hardly come to terms with. He'd changed his mind at the end, of course, but he'd still conducted himself like a monster thirsting for blood. For a moment, he'd wanted to see Mark suffer like he had, and a small part of him still did; he could hardly deny that. There were many nights, almost every night, actually, where he woke up from frantic gore-soaked nightmares; his breaths tearing from him like sobs, practically feeling Mark's hands wrapping around his throat. Kyle seemed to walk every step with a hint of fear, and he was constantly looking over his shoulder; waiting, waiting. He was always fucking waiting for the other shoe to drop because he could hardly dare to believe that he was safe.

If Mark had taught Kyle anything it was that safety and control were pipe dreams and vapors; lacking substance and hardly reliable. Mark was still swimming through his blood like a poison, and while he was sorry for sending him back to Damien, Kyle was still completely terrified. Every minute was draped in shades of blood still waiting to be shed, another blow waiting to fall, another sharp crack of the belt on unsuspecting flesh. Kyle was quickly realizing that he'd never be free so long as Mark was inside of his head, and he was starting to see that he was always there; probably forever.

"What is there to say?" Kyle murmured, his eyes drifting back toward the grey-paned window. He still couldn't bring himself to talk about the violence he'd suffered through while trapped on the shore; not just at the hands of Mark but at the hands of Damien, too. How could he ever explain to Stan what he'd been through? How could he ever make him understand?

Stan stood from the bed and came over to Kyle slowly, approaching him like he would a skittish, shy animal. Kyle almost smirked at his careful steps, hardly able to blame him. Ever since he'd come home weeks ago, he was almost terrified of his own fucking shadow; flinching at sudden noises and movements. It was almost like his entire spirit had been cracked in two and he was falling apart every single day; a fact which sickened and infuriated him.

"Just get it off your chest," Stan said, quietly, his tenuous hands coming to rest on Kyle's hips. "I think it'll help you feel better, Kyle."

Now Kyle really did smirk. Feel better? Yeah fucking right; like that was ever going to happen.

"I just want to feel like myself again," he said, hating the tremble in his voice. "When the fuck is that going to happen?"

"Well, you're already improving," Stan replied, his hands squeezing a fraction tighter; almost making Kyle wince.

"What do you mean?" He asked, allowing himself to be drawn just a little bit closer while fighting back mounting hysteria.

"You wouldn't even let me touch you just a couple weeks ago," Stan said, his cobalt eyes warm but a little sad, too. "Now look at you, you're actually letting me hold you."

"Hmph, big fucking deal," Kyle scoffed, his mind drifting to memories of the past; being wrapped in Stan's arms as he held him close, Kyle crying out for everything he could give.

Now he could hardly stomach the idea of having sex with his own boyfriend. Ashamed, Kyle dropped his gaze while his fingers lingered on the hem of Stan's shirt.

"When will it get easier?" He whispered, despising the tears welling up in his eyes; threatening to fall any moment. "I'm still afraid all the time, Stan."

Without warning, Stan gathered Kyle into his arms despite his meager protests, his skin so warm and smelling of clean laundry and mint; his very essence seeping into Kyle's blood and bones. For a moment, he struggled but finally he allowed himself to be held closer than he had in weeks; his fingers coming to grip the back of Stan's t-shirt and crushing it in his hands.

"I'll keep you safe, Kyle," Stan murmured, his words warm against Kyle's curls; his voice so strong and sure. "I'll do everything I can to make sure you're okay. I promise."

"How can you make a promise like that?" Kyle asked, laughing a little as a tear slid down his cheek.

"Very easily," Stan replied, drawing back and tilting Kyle's face up a little; his dear, sweet eyes so full of love that it almost left him breathless. "It would help if you'd tell me what I'm up against, though. I hate being in the dark."

_You're probably safer that way,_ Kyle thought, his heartbeat accelerating out of nowhere, fear pouring into his blood like a noxious poison. Anxiously, he pushed the terror away as he reveled in Stan's closeness, his overwhelmingly reassuring warmth.

"I don't even know where to begin," he said, nuzzling into Stan's touch and being surprised to feel the faint stirrings of desire; small but undeniably present in his belly.

"Start wherever you feel most comfortable," Stan suggested, leaning down and nipping a little at Kyle's bottom lip.

"That's hilarious, Stan," Kyle said, sinking into the desire seeping through his blood but unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes. "I'm not fucking comfortable with anything that's happened."

"But you're comfortable with this, aren't you?" Stan asked, licking along his bottom lip and imploring Kyle to open his mouth; his tongue sneaking inside and exploring.

Kyle moaned hungrily as he felt Stan pull him tighter, their bodies pressing together as the rain continued to drum its gentle staccato on the roof. Presently, he could feel his body heating up and a flush rising on his cheeks, and suddenly the bloody memories of the past and Mark's face started to recede; not completely, but enough to be bearable.

"I don't know if I'm ready for this," he gasped, pushing away a little and biting at his now swollen bottom lip. "Can we take things a little slower?"

Stan grinned and pressed his forehead against Kyle's, his pretty eyes darkening to the color of a dusky ocean vista.

"We can go as slowly as you like," he murmured, pulling Kyle in close again and intoxicating him completely; his presence blotting out the horrors waiting just on the edges of his mind. "I just love you, Kyle. I miss you."

"But I'm right here," Kyle said, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"You know what I mean."

"Yes, I think I do," Kyle replied, shyly, allowing himself to be kissed again; finally allowing himself to become lost in a tide of love and desire.

All at once, a curl of sunlight fell through a part in the curtains and across Stan's hair; accenting its dark richness. Sighing, Kyle sunk into the kiss and closed his eyes, daring to believe that things could be okay for the first time in ages.

_I'll be okay as long as I'm with you,_ he thought; his mind drifting and finally settling a little. _Just as long as you're by my side, I can keep going._

******

Mark wanted to taste blood, just not his own. He craved it, needed it, deserved it.

Clenching his hands into shaking fists, Mark bore up under Damien's assault with an unshakable resolve; his blood running in rivers as he pulled against his chains. Closing his eyes, he counted down the seconds so he had something to focus on other than the constant, burning pain; his mind quickening with rage so potent he could practically taste it.

Kyle and Becky had betrayed him, had sold him out; they'd given him back to the embodiment of evil without a second thought. Somehow, they had ended up walking back into the light but Mark had been sent headlong back into the darkness with the waiting horrors; every shadow having teeth and drawing blood, so much blood.

"You know I won't stop until you beg me," Damien murmured, striking him with the whip again. Blood ran in merlot puddles under Mark's knees as he knelt on the stone floor, his chains dragging him down and keeping him in place.

"Fuck you," he seethed, his body arching as another blow rained down on him. Darkness was creeping in on the edges of his vision but he refused to fucking break. He _wouldn't._

"Come, come, pet," Damien sighed, coming round to stand before Mark as he considered him; bloodied eyes gleaming in the sconces lining the stone walls. "You aren't getting yourself anywhere by being so obstinate. You're mine. You will obey. You know this, so accept it."

"Never," he breathed, his head hanging down as the whip cracked over his shoulder blades again. Dimly, he could taste blood on his tongue and he almost reveled in it; remembering the way he'd tasted Kyle's blood once, his teeth biting into his firm backside. "I'll never fucking break, you dirty prick."

"Oh, but you will," Damien replied, bringing the whip down harder this time, right across the most tender part of Mark's backside. "You've been forsaken by everyone you thought cared about you, pet. Just give in, it's not like you have anything left now."

Rage reared its dark and shiny head in Mark's brain at these words and suddenly he was straining against his chains, teeth gritted as he thirsted for revenge.

"Shut the fuck up!" He yelled, pulling at his restraints until his skin was cut and weeping gore. "You have no fucking idea what you're talking about!"

"Oh, but I do," Damien purred, dropping a kiss on Mark's shaking blood-covered shoulder. "Kyle came to me and begged to have you taken away. He was more than willing to sacrifice your comforts to save his own skin. Do I even need to go into how your sister turned her back on you? Even after you showed her the joys of the flesh?" He laughed derisively, his voice echoing through the black abyss of an outpost in Hell; cruel music cutting through Mark's head and making him want to scream.

"They'll regret this," Mark seethed, his body shivering as Damien continued to stroke over his flesh; cruel, cold fingers lingering on festering wounds. "I'll fucking make them pay, I swear to God."

"God," Damien snorted, rolling his eyes. "He has nothing to do with this, and you know it."

Always one for turning the screw, for putting fire to already aching feet, Damien's voice became melodic and almost silky as he drifted a finger under Mark's chin; lifting it slightly.

"Would you like to see how the little lamb is fairing? Now that you, the obstacle, are out of the way?"

"What do you mean?" Mark asked, his eyes narrowing. Damien was clearly trying to blindside him with his old trickery.

Snickering, Damien waved a clawed hand and all at once a shimmering portal ignited; it's silvery brilliance dazzling Mark's light-starved eyes.

"Take a look," he instructed, jerking Mark's head up and at attention. "Take a good long look, pet. Tell me what you see."

After a moment, Mark's eyes widened to see Kyle, his Kyle, wrapped in the arms of Stan; their lips hungrily meeting time and again. Unbridled fury flared into life as he watched Stan's hands wander into Kyle's scarlet curls, his fingers winding through and drawing him close; his blue eyes so full of love and adoration that he fucking wanted to vomit. Growling, he yanked at his chains again as he watched his property be manhandled by someone so undeserving, someone so basic and practically filth beneath his feet.

"I'll fucking kill that son of a bitch!" He roared, his body coiled with abject fury and hate; every bone in his body crying out for retribution and blood. He wanted to tear him apart, he wanted to make him suffer, he wanted to make him pay.

"Mm, so much anger," Damien said, his voice practically dripping with lust and amusement. "Let it all out, pet; there's a good lad." Reaching up, he dragged a hand through Mark's dark, blood-flecked hair. "God, I love when you get like this; you're almost uncontrollable."

"Shut the fuck up and actually help me!" Mark yelled, turning his fury on the demon; voice raw with the need for violence. He could imagine tearing Stan apart in his hands, snapping his neck, making him fucking suffer. And Kyle, god, he could barely conceive of what he'd do to _him_.

"Why would I do that?" Damien asked, flicking his forehead lightly. "You're my pet, my plaything, my toy; why the fuck would I help you?"

"Because I know you want to," Mark said, gritting his teeth. "You want to get back at Kyle as much as I do. Don't you? He fucking bested you, he outsmarted you; he destroyed your power with love and compassion."

Frowning, Damien glanced at his portal as well, his eyes lingering on sweet romance blooming in the face of sunshine and clouds parting. Grinning savagely, Mark saw a look of ire rise in the demon's eyes, and he knew that he had a chance. Taking a deep breath, his tone became wheedling as he tried to reason with an unfeeling, uncaring instrument of pure evil.

"You had him, didn't you?" He whispered, wincing as blood trailed down his decimated flesh. "Wasn't he sublime? I'd be willing to share him again."

"I don't share with anyone, brat," Damien snarled, his fingers still weaving through Mark's hair; yanking it sharply. "You know that."

"Fine," Mark conceded, ignoring the burning ache in his scalp. "Then maybe we can make a deal."

"You're hardly in the position to make any deals," Damien commented, continuing to watch the portal; Kyle and Stan's display positively nauseating as they kissed in front of white summer sunlight. "Besides, he forgave you, pet. Why do you still have so much animosity; where's your compassion?" He smirked, cold claws twisting and pulling Mark's hair; taunting him.

"Forgave me for what?" Mark spat, eyeing his redheaded love with a mixture of complete adoration and a hate so caustic it felt like it was burning in his veins. "All I did was save him from a lifetime of mediocrity with that fucking idiot he's attached to."

"You really have no remorse, do you?" Damien asked, dragging a claw down Mark's face and drawing a thin line of blood. "Are you sure you weren't meant to be a demon?"

"Sometimes I wonder," Mark replied, wry amusement sparking in his voice as he imagined fucking Kyle until he cried; begging him to stop.

"Okay, let's say I consider such a proposal," Damien mused, licking Mark's blood from his claw. "What's in it for me?"

Mark lapsed into silence, considering; sharp mind whirring and clicking at the possibilities.

"What do you want?" He finally asked, deciding to play his cards close to his vest. Why give away what he was willing to part with so quickly?

Curved claws clicked against the stone floor as Damien thought, his Hellish eyes drifting to the portal and smirking to see Stan gathering Kyle into his arms.

"Well, as much as I hate to say it, I did give him my word," he murmured, eyes narrowing slightly. "I told Kyle I'd only subject him to one night, but -"

"But what?" Mark asked, head snapping up as he heard the demon beginning to relent.

"But he did change his mind about you at the last moment, didn't he?" Damien asked, voice gleeful as he swam through loopholes and possibilities. "He basically went back on his own word because he insisted on being so _compassionate_ ," he said, practically spitting the word out like a mouthful of venom. "Really, he deserves whatever he gets, doesn't he?"

"I'd say so," Mark replied, relishing in the waves of malevolence pouring off the demon.

"I still expect payment, though," Damien said, glancing at him sharply.

"Name your price," Mark replied, tensing himself for the worst.

"If you insist," Damien said, waving the vision of Stan and Kyle away. Smiling in almost a dreamy way, he waved his hand again and suddenly another portal ignited; Mark squinting his eyes as a picture became clear in front of him; his heart dropping into his stomach and practically imploding.

Becky, his Becky, was glowing whitely and innocently in the dreadful darkness of his prison; her brilliance and innocence washing over him in waves so sweet he could practically smell her rose-laden scent. Blanching, he gazed at his beloved sister as Damien smirked at him; his darkness encroaching on Becky's ethereal light in waves of noxious, black vapor.

"You can't be serious," he whispered, gazing at his beautiful sister as she went about her business; none the wiser and ignorant of the nightmare watching her.

"Oh, but I am," Damien said, chewing on a claw. "She escaped me once, pet, and I suppose I could easily take her on my own, but I want you to give her to me. It would make the experience that much more delicious."

"I couldn't," Mark said, faintly; watching as Becky undid her bun; her luscious curls cascading down her back in glorious streams, chestnut-rich and almost sparkling. "She hasn't done anything, how could I-"

"She betrayed you, pet," Damien cut in. "Just like the lamb. They both betrayed you; turned their backs on you. I'm giving you the opportunity for revenge, to take back your dignity. You can't become bogged down in useless sentimentality now. Otherwise, I'll keep you here and continue to brutalize you. It's your choice."

"What would you do to her?" Mark asked, his desire building as he watched his sister rise from her bed, her hands drifting to her back and starting to unzip her dress.

"You know exactly what I'd do to her," Damien said, watching intently, too; his eyes widening and gleaming with all of the fires of Hell.

A hush stole over them as they both watched Rebecca unzip her dress and step out of it, her lush, ripe figure coming into delicious focus; round curves healthy and gleaming in the light of her bedroom. After a moment, she reached back and started to undo her bra, her lovely face dusted over with a pink and very becoming blush.

"I can see why you wanted her," Damien commented, jagged teeth glittering vividly. "So, what do you say?"

"I need you to give me an edge if I'm going to agree to this," Mark said, managing to tear his eyes away from the beauty of his naked and vulnerable sister. "I need to know that I can't fail this time, that I'll definitely be able to make Kyle mine forever; that I can make Stan pay in the way he deserves."

"Hmm," Damien thought, tapping his claw as he continued to watch Rebecca with lusty interest. "I suppose you could sell something to me. If you did, I could give you a considerable amount of power."

"Sell you what?"

"Oh, just your soul," Damien replied, almost sounding bored as his autopsy eyes hungrily devoured Rebecca.

"That's trite, even for you," Mark said, trying to inject some levity even as fear sung in his veins.

"Maybe, but I could give you abilities that surpass that of a mere mortal," Damien said, slapping his face sharply for his cheek. "What do you say, pet? Give me your sister and I'll let you have another go at the delectable little lamb. Not to mention his boring, steadfast counterpart. What was his name again? Stan?"

"Stan," Mark seethed, fury and insatiable cruelty rising up in him again just at the mention of that name. Trying to compose himself, he cocked an eyebrow at Damien. "How do I give you my soul?"

Damien smirked and patted Mark's cheek even as he clearly wished to claw it open.

"I take it you're agreeing to my terms," he remarked, standing. "Right?"

"Yes," Mark announced, willing himself to ignore the fact that he was forsaking his humanity and sister all at the same time for the chance to taste Kyle again. "I suppose I am."

"Perfect," Damien replied, turning and regarding him with a serial killer smile. "But first -"

"What?" Mark asked, sagging against his chains as his body pulsed with violent longings.

"I want my payment up front this time," Damien said. "Tonight."

Mark's heart immediately started beating frantically as Damien's words soaked in.

"You don't mean -"

"Yes, I do," Damien cut him off. "I want a taste of your lovely little twin as soon as night falls. And -"

He waved his hand, the portal shimmering and burning brightly as Rebecca gazed at herself in the mirror.

"I want you to watch the whole time. If you want me to help you, you're going to pay for it in spades."

*****


	42. Darkness Awakening: Kyle/Mark's/Damien's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: RAPE. SATANIC ELEMENTS. Really, just general insanity.
> 
> I'm feeling blah today so I'm sorry in advance if this sucks. Depression is a bitch, you guys.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy. If anyone's still reading, that is. I know this shit is crazy so, yeah. Whatevs.

It was at times like this that Damien became preoccupied with the relentless and chaotic act of creation.

According to biblical lore, God created the heavens and earth in 6 days, with the final day being used to rest, bless, and sanctify; 7 days in all of miraculous wonder. How long did it take to break down and rebuild a person, though? It would seem that his work would be cut out for him with his stubborn pet, so if it took utter ruthlessness (even so far as he was concerned) to bring about the end result he craved, so be it.

Damien moved through the air like a noxious and insidious vapor, his long, elegant limbs black smoke capable of seeping into any area he wanted. As he materialized in front of his pet's delectable sister's window, he couldn't help but hold his breath for a moment and just watch; taking in the piece of fruit waiting to be plucked and devoured whole. She was absolutely delicious as she sat in front of her vanity, long, curly hair laying over porcelain shoulders and falling to the middle of her back; her hazel eyes resting on her reflection in the glass.

With famished eyes, Damien watched as she brushed through her chestnut strands, her healthy, rosy robustness glowing in the lamplight; full lips pouting as she worked. Every part of his being was wrapped up in the vision before him, and once again he couldn't blame his pet for being so preoccupied with her; truly, she was simply a delight for all of the senses.

 _He must really be desperate if he's willing to stoop to a low like this,_ he mused, sharp claws settling against his lips. _I can see into every disgusting part of his mind and Kyle's name is there, but so is hers; the dear little sister._

Weeks of torment and bloodshed hadn't reduced Mark to the quivering puddle Damien craved, no matter the amount of whippings or mind games. Every part of his pet's skin was covered over with gore and terror, his blood spilled in greater and greater amounts, bruises blooming like caustic roses, and still he wouldn't break; he wouldn't succumb. He'd known that it would be a battle, but even Damien was beginning to become frustrated; what the fuck was he doing wrong?

Now he realized that it all rounded back to the cherubic redhead, his bright spirit practically illuminating everything around him wherever he went. Kyle was entrenched in Mark's blood and there was just no leaching him from his system, so why not use this morsel to his benefit? Besides, Damien had his own ax to grind with the little whelp, so really, he was killing so many birds at the same time with just one little stone. He'd have a taste of the sister, haunt Kyle's dreams, and break down his pet all at once; what a truly intoxicating time to be alive!

Mark had jumped too quickly at the chance of selling his soul, and really Damien was hardly surprised. Anger and the thirst for revenge had made Mark impetuous and shortsighted, not to mention the fact that he was dangling over the edge of sanity's precipice and getting closer and closer to falling everyday. All he needed now was a tiny nudge and he'd be falling headlong into outright psychosis, a fact which only served to feed the demon's thirst for entertainment through the defilement and suffering of others.

 _This is all too perfect,_ he thought, feeling his body breaking down further as he began to stream through the cracks in the window panes; his being passing into essence and becoming so much smoke. _Absolutely perfect._

Once inside, he breathed deeply as he began to reform, and when he was whole again, he stood behind Rebecca for a moment before she glanced up; her eyes widening like glittering coins when they fell on Damien staring at her in the mirror. Abject terror came to life on her face as she considered him, and in a moment she was turning but he was already there, right behind her; long, clawed fingers resting on sweet, round shoulders.

"Relax," he purred, curved nails trailing against her overwhelming softness. "Be still."

Potent fear rose in a tide in her bright irises as she turned back around, her wide eyes falling on Damien as some of the color leaked from her cheeks. A slight tremor passed through her flesh as she adjusted to Damien's frigidity, and he watched closely as her throat pulsed; tiny ticktock heartbeats clicking away.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, tremulous voice a ghost of a whisper. "You shouldn't be here."

A flash in her demeanor, a slight understanding, tipped Damien off though, and all at once he was smiling; curved canines sharp and thirsty.

"You've been expecting me," he murmured, hands stroking over her fragrant, rose-scented flesh. "I can see it in your eyes."

Hazel eyes drifted downward as the first teardrops collected, and she was biting at her full bottom lip. After a moment, she nodded.

"You know your brother too well, it would seem," he commented, his hand drifting under her chin and tipping her head back. His other hand came to settle on her throat, squeezing lightly and relishing in the quickening blood singing through her veins.

"I didn't want to believe he was capable of this, though," Rebecca said, openly weeping now. "I didn't want to think that Mark -"

"Your brother is ruthless," Damien cut her off, gently, his fingers squeezing a little tighter now. "He wants the redhead, and to have an opportunity, he sold off some of his assets."

"I'm not an asset, you son of a bitch," she seethed, trying to jerk away but moaning when the demons claws dug in.

"You are as far as I'm concerned," Damien breathed, his hand drifting down from her throat and snaking under her flimsy camisole; his fingers settling over a ripe, full breast. Gasping, she began to tremble harder which only reinforced his desire. "Aren't you going to fight me, little rose? I thought you had more fire than this."

"What's the point?" Rebecca asked, closing her eyes against the feeling of Damien's finger circling her pierced nipple. "I couldn't possibly win against you."

Damien chuckled, his hands suddenly settling on the fabric and tearing it in half; exposing her completely from neck to waist.

"What's my brother even gaining from this?" Rebecca asked, her eyes clenched tighter as Damien toyed with her.

"A chance," Damien replied, voice oily as he watched the flush rise from her neck to stain her cheeks pink. Streams of tears fell down her cheeks and wafted over her neck; trickling across her stark clavicle. "The brother you thought you knew, is not the brother I'll be returning to you; that much I can say."

"What are you going to do to him?" Sighing softly, Rebecca cringed at the feeling of sharp fangs drifting over her exposed neck.

"Hollow him out and throw him to the flames," Damien shrugged, instructing her to stand. "It's what he wants."

"Because of Kyle," she murmured, drifting to the bed and allowing herself to be laid against a lace coverlet; Damien's hands sliding under the delicate fabric of her panties.

"The boy is in his blood," Damien replied, admiring the way her curls draped across her pillowcase; chestnut tendrils fragrant with wild roses. "Just like you are, but his thirst for him is stronger. How utterly heartbreaking."

"Yes, I'm sure if you had a heart, it would be bleeding for my sake," Rebecca spat, turning her face away.

"Mm, there's a spark," the demon said, trailing a claw down the center of her abdomen; relishing in the waves of fear and anticipation pouring off of her. "Just be grateful that I'll treat you with more delicacy than I ever did with him, or Kyle, for that matter." He smirked, hooking his thumbs into her panties and beginning to draw them down her trembling, lush thighs.

"Just stop," she started to sob, covering her flushed face with her hands; every word a plea for mercy. "You don't have to do this!"

"Funny, that's what Kyle said too," he remarked, leaning forward and raining dry kisses against her neck; his lips whispering right next to her ear as he breathed in her potent agony. "Guess what happened? Go on, guess."

"You were supposed to save us," she trembled, his hands latching onto the skin of her thighs and drawing them apart.

All he could do was laugh now. Oh, the sweet, awful irony!

"Imagine, pinning your salvation on the antichrist," he whispered, his thumbs digging into the softest, most fragrant skin between her legs. "Mortals and their romantic notions. Will you ever learn?"

"Mark!" She cried out, eyes dazed as Damien began the slow process of consumption.

"Yes, cry out his name, dearheart," he soothed, watching her unravel beneath his hands. "After all, he can hear everything you're saying."

It was with savage tenderness that Damien took Mark's other half, and all he could do was marvel at how similar they were even in the throes of being taken and twisted to fit his ideals, his cruel designs. Shuddering, the horror was twice as sweet, a million times more chaotically exciting because he knew his pet could watch every moment of his sister's undoing. Mark had been easy to hand her over, but Damien knew him too well; he knew that every second was a razor blade being torn across his tongue as his dark eyes drank in the torturous spectacle.

Creation was truly a product of blood and agony, he knew this as an irrefutable fact as he warped the girl in his arms into something else entirely; a creature of misery and breathless fear. The cold, blue-white stars pulsed in the window panes as he took her through the darkest night in the world, and all he could do was ride the tide of destruction; his caustic blood rushing through his veins and burning him as he burned her. With deft, clawed hands, cruel and calculating, he ripped off her wings and plunged her into the heart of the fire; the angel snatched from a pedestal and left to smolder.

 _I'll do the same to the little aspiring Messiah,_ he thought as he nipped at tender flesh that wept perfumed blood. _I may not be able to douse his light, but I can certainly make it flicker._

It wasn't until he could feel her beginning to fade that Damien started to consider the fires rushing through him, his end approaching swiftly with every movement and pulse. Her eyes weren't her own anymore and he couldn't help but admire how they collapsed like burned out stars, each one dying as her mind drifted far away; far past the heavens and outward where earthly horrors couldn't touch her. He smirked. Sometimes the only respite that could be found for suffering mortals was the recesses of their own thoughts; unknown forests where monsters still crept but offering so many places to hide.

Shuddering, he began to feel himself dissolving, bloodied eyes closing against the beauty wrapped around him; his entire being sinking into a nightmare unfolding but barely begun. They had so much time, and he had every intention of making the most of it; slow minutes unwinding and filled with silent, desperate screams.

******

It was with a desperate, gasping sob that Kyle tore awake, his dreams filled with visions of red eyes gleaming and breathless fear. A feeling of heavy, pervasive dread and sadness dragged him down and made him press his hands to his face, willing the thoughts away even as they stayed; everything converging on him as midnight loomed.

"Hey, are you okay?" Stan whispered, his gentle hand coming to rest on Kyle's back, almost making him scream. For a moment, it felt like a hand studded with claws and cruelty and Kyle visibly recoiled. 

Sitting up, Stan snapped on the bedside light and peered at Kyle, his dark hair mussed from cuddling and sleep; everything about him radiating love and concern.

"Kyle?"

"I-I saw someone in my dreams," he whispered, staring down at his shaking hands. The bruises that had almost become a part of his fundamental makeup at one point were gone now, but he could feel them resting in his bones. "Someone fucking terrifying."

"Mark?" Stan asked, his voice grim. He drew closer, but he didn't touch Kyle; opting instead to lean in and comfort him with his warmth.

Kyle smirked, though he couldn't have felt more bereft of humor.

"No," he said. "Amazingly, this _thing_ is even scarier, if you can believe that. He felt so close." Shivering, he wrapped his arms around himself and attempted to shut out the night converging on him.

"Who is he?"

"How can I even explain?" Kyle asked, shaking his head. "You'll never believe me."

"Try me," Stan replied, assuming a serious tone he usually didn't direct at Kyle. "You can't keep shutting me out like this, Kyle. At some point, you're going to need to get this poison out of your system."

Kyle felt a little dazed as he looked out the window where the icy moon drifted among wispy clouds, appearing wild and ancient.

"It feels like the only emotions I'm capable of feeling are the bad ones, you know?" He murmured, voice sounding as lost as the wandering moon. "Sadness, fear, anger...hopelessness. I feel hopeless all the time, Stan."

"I know," Stan said. "I can tell."

"Would you believe me if I told you that I had to make a deal with the Devil?" Kyle asked, a raw recklessness slicing through him. If Stan wanted to know the truth, why should he go out of his way to shield him?

"What are you talking about?" Stan asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Kyle slid from the bed and stood, his body wrapped in Stan's oversized t-shirt and whispering against his skin. He walked to the window and he gazed out at the quiet night, dimly glad that the rain had finally stopped. His eyes felt swollen and heavy from so many disrupted nights, his mind filled with racing thoughts that just wouldn't stop. Quiet terror and sadness festered in his brain and made him want to be moving always, never content to be where he was, but also yearning to be still and silent; thinking but not thinking at the same time. Often, he thought he was just descending into the waters of insanity, and sometimes he just wanted to let them close over his head so he could have some peace; allow the bell jar's lid to clamp down and wrap him in airless sanctity.

"Mark was completely out of control when we were on the shore," he murmured, eyes straying to the stars and picking out Bootes immediately. "It got to the point where I thought every day was going to be the last, you know? That he was finally just going to lose it completely and kill me."

"I saw the wounds," Stan said, softly. "He really hurt you."

"Yes, he did," Kyle said, a dead quality stealing through his voice as he began to detach. "I woke up tasting blood on my tongue almost every morning, but there's more to it than that, the violence. Mark's sickness goes so much deeper than his propensity for violence, Stan."

"How so?"

Kyle hugged himself as he remembered the constellations Mark traced through the sky with his expert hands, his soft words as he whispered 'I love you' in Kyle's ear, his capability of being so soft and so kind. His thoughts strayed to the picnic they'd had on the beach the morning Kyle gave Mark back to Damien, and he could almost taste the pink wine trickling down his throat and reviving him even as it left him feeling dazed.

"Sometimes he was just so kind," he whispered. "He'd go from being savage and cruel to so soft in an instant, and it was terrifying. I never knew who I was dealing with. Christ, I never could figure out who he really was, if that makes any sense."

"It makes perfect sense," Stan replied, running a hand through his hair and swinging his legs over the side of his cozy twin bed. "He was trying to disarm you, Kyle; lull you into a false sense of security."

"I'm not so sure," Kyle replied, his heart picking up its rhythm when he stopped to consider Mark's fervent declarations of love; how sincere he seemed. Was all of it a lie? How could it be? That just made his suffering seem that much more cruel.

Stan's voice took on a careful, pensive quality when he spoke next; his tone suggesting that he wasn't absolutely sure of what he was saying but at least wanting Kyle to consider it.

"I keep wondering how Mark was able to get to you the way he did," he said, leaning his elbows on his legs as he stared at the floor; hands clasped. "And I'm starting to think you were taken in by the Halo effect."

"What are you talking about?" Kyle asked, turning and knitting his eyebrows together.

"It's a theory that the more attractive a person is, the more people are kind of tricked into thinking that they're somehow smarter or nicer than other people, even if they aren't. I'm pretty sure Mark's outward appearance fucked with your perception and kind of paved the way for his depravity. Or something," Stan answered, shrugging a little. "I mean, I'm probably full of shit, but that's the only way I can explain all of this away...at least a little."

"That's actually a really interesting idea," Kyle said, making a mental note to do further research into the subject while being impressed by Stan's insight. "But I think you're being too kind to me, Stan. Mark was able to get to me because I let him. I was a fucking idiot, plain and simple."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, dude," Stan said, his voice sad. "Haven't you been through enough without beating yourself up?"

"You don't know the half of it," Kyle quipped, rolling his eyes.

"Oh?"

Kyle drew a shuddering breath and wrung his hands a little, trying to put his racing thoughts in some kind of order so he could articulate them.

"I came face to face with pure evil, Stan," he murmured. "I let it use me in order to get away from Mark. It tried to destroy me, to turn me, but I wouldn't let it."

"What are you saying right now?"

"I sent Mark back to Hell," Kyle said, turning to him. "In order to do that, I had to spend a night being accosted by the antichrist. It wasn't my proudest moment, but it worked. I think."

Stan just stared at him blankly, his blue eyes dazed as he digested the information just heaped upon him.

"With the antichrist," he repeated, slowly. "So, you're telling me you -"

"Sold my body to evil incarnate."

"I see," Stan replied, staring off into space. "So, what can I say here? I have no fucking clue how to respond to that."

"You'll be happy to know I retained my humanity," Kyle shrugged. "That's something, I guess."

"Once again, I have no fucking idea what to say here. Help me out, Kyle."

Kyle came over and sat next to him on the bed, his hands shaking as he clenched them on his knees.

"Mark's past was more complicated than I ever could've thought, Stan," he explained. "So, I gave him back to his creator, although I'm pretty sure Mark was corrupted even before he fell into Damien's hands."

Stan continued to stare at him.

"D-Damien? Wait, what?"

"God, there's so much to unpack here," Kyle sighed. "How can I ever make you understand?"

"I don't think you can."

"I'm starting to see that. I guess all you need to know is that I found a way out of my problem, but I'm still afraid."

"I don't blame you," Stan replied, reaching over and taking Kyle's hand gently. "To think, this all started so simply, and now Mark is like fucking Michael Myers or something. Do you think he's going to come back?"

"How can he? I mean, I literally fed him back into the jaws of Hell. How could he ever escape that?"

"One can only speculate," Stan said. He leaned over and softly kissed Kyle's cheek, his warm reassurance pushing back some of the depression that seemed to be eating away at Kyle little by little everyday. "But I'd like to think this is all over with."

"God, me too," Kyle said, softly. "You can't even imagine. You know, I told Mark I forgave him for everything."

Kyle winced a little to feel Stan's hand tightening on his own, his nails digging in just a little.

"Seriously?"

Kyle nodded his head, feeling a little sheepish but still resolute that he'd done the right thing.

"I had to, Stan. Besides, forgiveness isn't just for the other person...it's also for yourself, isn't it? It soothes the pain a little."

Stan wiped a hand across his mouth, a contemplative look passing through his night-muted eyes; heavy with residual sleep.

"I don't think he deserved it, but did it help at least?"

"Who can really say?" Kyle asked, faintly. "I guess only time will tell. Maybe I'll actually be able to hash all this insanity out in therapy finally."

"You still haven't told her about any of this? For real?"

"I just haven't been able to find the words. But if it's all finally over, maybe I can actually start to talk about it. You know?"

All at once, Stan was gathering Kyle into a warm embrace, his fingers sliding through his tangled red curls and holding him softly; his careful handling suggesting that he still viewed Kyle as being incredibly, unspeakably breakable.

"There's nothing more that I want right now than for this to all be behind us," he murmured. "I just want you to start healing. Finally."

*****

Mark yanked against his chains as soon as Damien entered his prison, his body appearing as vapor at first and swiftly solidifying; dark hair gleaming under red lights and murderous eyes flashing pure malevolence.

"Your sister always smells of roses," he commented, idly; ticking a claw against his cheek. "It's heavenly."

"You don't need to gloat, you fucking prick," Mark seethed, imagining tearing the demon's head off and throwing it into a lake of fire. "You already fucking got what you wanted."

"Somewhat," Damien replied, drawing closer and regarding Mark like a piece of meat. After a moment, he cracked a palm against Mark's cheek, making him grunt and fall forward in his constraints. "Watch your tongue, by the way. I'm still your master, little pet."

"Yes, we've already firmly established that," Mark breathed, tasting the blood in his mouth; the blood that always seemed to be present. "Now give me what I want, what you promised me."

"Ah, yes. Our deal," the demon said, walking around his acquisition and appraising him in a remote, careful fashion. "I find it very amusing that you're so casual about parting with your humanity so quickly. Most humans need to marinate on this subject for awhile, but not you. You're truly a rare breed, pet."

"I'm just willing to do whatever it takes to get what I want," Mark snapped. "That's always been the case."

"Do you even know what you want at this point?" Damien asked, dragging a claw along Mark's neck and making him shudder. He could feel the warm blood seeping down over his nape. "Why are you so preoccupied with the lamb? True, he's so satisfying to bite into, but you're essentially sacrificing yourself here."

"Completely?" Mark asked, clenching his fists as the blood trails ghosted over his wrecked flesh.

"Well, I could dissect your soul in pieces, take a little here, take a little there," Damien suggested, continuing to tick his claw against his face. "That way, you can at least retain some of your emotions." He snorted derisively. "Although I don't know why you'd want to hang onto those pesky things. Really, they just cause trouble."

"I want to at least be able to love Kyle," Mark said. "And Becky," he added, fighting back the faint stirrings of hateful remorse; her blank, hazel eyes sliding into focus and threatening to destroy him. He waved the thought away, firming his resolve in what he needed to do. After all, she had brought his vengeance down when she'd dared to cross him.

"You make absolutely no sense, pet," Damien remarked, waving a claw and causing Mark's chains to disappear instantly. "How can you love something and want to destroy it at the same time?"

"Call it human nature," Mark retorted, rising onto his shaking legs and wiping blood from his lips. "Haven't you noticed that most people want everything or nothing? Why do you think there are drug addicts and alcoholics? There's no such thing as enough, and that's how I feel about Kyle. I want all of him or none of him, and I'm not done with him yet."

"Hmm, interesting. Well, at the very least you're an interesting character study when it comes to the subject of obsession," Damien shrugged. "So, you've decided then?"

Mark nodded.

"Yes. Take what you need in order to give me an edge."

"This is going to be incredibly painful, mind you," Damien said, his voice loaded with venomous enthusiasm. "But it'll give me the ability to share some of my capabilities with you. Oh, and you won't be able to go to Heaven or Hell when you expire, of course." He smirked. "No one wants a carved up soul, I'm afraid."

His words made Mark take pause, and he stopped to consider them as he fought to stay on his feet; his entire body screaming out for respite and care. Seconds thoughts wavered in his hazy mind but he quickly dismissed them when he stopped to consider the depths of Kyle's betrayal, the unmitigated gall he'd displayed when he'd sacrificed him so callously. Strengthening his determination, he set his jaw and looked the demon straight in his eyes, and it was akin to locking eyes with the personification of a nightmare.

"I've made up my fucking mind," he said. "Now get on with it."

"If you say so," Damien purred, stroking a finger along Mark's jawline; his sharp talon drawing even more blood. "Just remember that your chains still belong to me, and they always will; even more so now."

"You've gotten your pound of flesh, you jackal," Mark seethed. "Now stop fucking posturing and get to it."

"Such spirited words for such a wretched creature," Damien commented. In a moment, he conjured up a dagger from thin air and clutched it in an elegant hand, a slow grin stealing across his deceptively handsome face.

"Are you ready?"

Mark gritted his teeth and willed himself to be stoic. It wouldn't do to display anything inside of his head. Besides, it wasn't like Damien couldn't look into the recesses of his mind and see his secret terrors and all abiding rage. He nodded his head.

"Well, then," Damien said, and he drew back the dagger. In a flash, he lunged forward and slashed it across Mark's naked abdomen, making him scream out as his blood started to pour. "So, so pretty," he whispered, watching closely as the gore poured out in shiny ribbons. Reaching out, he spoke dark words into the air and plucked at something, and in a moment he was bringing his hand up to show Mark a glimmering thread; dark red and practically pulsing.

"Every mortal's soul is different," he explained, winding the thread round and round one long finger. "It makes sense that yours is the color of bloodshed, don't you think?"

All Mark could do was try to stay on his feet as he swayed in his place, his vision flitting in and out as he watched Damien wind his soul around his finger; his blood pouring out in droves and cascading over his front. The warm, metallic scent of it was cloying and unbearable; almost like thick sugar cooking down into sticky caramel.

"We'll just take a little piece for now," Damien said, continuing to curl the thread. "That's all we need." He thought a moment and smirked cruelly. "It kind of looks like the little lamb's pretty red locks, don't you think?"

Mark couldn't answer at this point, and could feel a fundamental piece of himself being extracted; his body becoming lighter as something irrefutably important was wrenched away. It almost felt like he was being assaulted on every possible level imaginable; every cell being lit up and invaded by an unspeakable darkness. Whimpering, he fell to his knees as the blood continued to fall and Damien continued to yank on the bloody, scarlet thread.

"There, that should do it." Damien swung the dagger upward and severed the thread. Blearily, Mark looked up and could see that it was snaking around Damien's arm and undulating, almost like it had a life of its own. Slowly, he dragged a cold hand across Mark's abdomen and spoke one single world, his wound closing up but not completely.

"Can't be too merciful, can I?" Damien snickered. "How do you feel, pet? Was it everything you hoped for?" Nudging Mark with his shoe, he continued to laugh and the sound echoed off of the black abysses opening up above them, and for a moment it seemed like there were a million demons taunting him at once.

Mark fell forward and landed hard on his cheek, his eyes open but not really seeing, his spent body wracked with excruciating pain. It was a pain that transcended the physical, though. He could feel it on a level that couldn't be named because it seemed to be burning through his essence and spirit, what was left of them anyway. Faint tremors coursed through his flesh as he lay in an expanding pool of his own gore, his fingers twitching as darkness started to overtake him.

The last thing he saw before the tides of night overtook him was the thread of his soul burning as Damien admired it, its light slowly going out as he toyed with it, until finally, it went out completely; its color reduced to ashes in the dim lights emanating from the dank walls of his prison.


	43. Darkness Awakening: Stan/Mark's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There aren't really any triggers for this chapter...just general obsessive insanity, lol. I'm seriously getting back into the groove of this story, you guys. What can I say? Mark is a fucking crazy psycho but he's fun; there's no denying that. Poor Kyle. :( Why am I so mean to him and Stan? Who even knows???
> 
> Anyway, ENJOY. <3

Stan couldn't help but realize that he'd gone through a metamorphosis over the past year. A painful one, of course, but it had been necessary; he was starting to see that now.

As he watched Kyle, the person he loved most in the world, break down and suffer at the hands of Mark, Stan had had to stand by and feel his hands become tied. He'd always been of the mind that Kyle needed to make his own decisions, which involved making his own mistakes, because he'd never wanted to control him. He'd seen Mark controlling Kyle's every move even when Kyle had tried to keep the truth from him, but he knew; he'd always known. Kyle's vibrancy had faded while he was intertwined with that monster, and this knowledge had threatened to destroy Stan, and he couldn't help but feel fury and helplessness in equal measures; a deep sorrow threading through and weighing him down as well.

Sometimes he felt like he barely had any heart left because it had been pulverized and crushed so many times. First it had been Kyle's betrayal, unintentional but still agonizing, when he'd chosen Mark over him and threw Stan to the flames, but it had continued over the months as he watched Kyle's subsequent destruction. As the weeks passed he had seen the redhead fading away bit by bit, his eyes dying and losing their snap, a quiet fear and hopelessness settling into his personality and taking over. And then came the hushed terror that accompanied the physical injuries, and Stan could vividly remember the night that Kyle had come to him and showed him the bruises, the cuts, those horrible bite marks....

It would seem that they'd both gone through a transformation because of Mark, and they were both continuing to reel from it while they tried to find their way. Kyle was afraid all the time, and a pensive, quiet quality had stolen into his personality. Gone was the fire, or at least it was muted, and now Stan had to hold him together because he was floundering in trauma. He had never realized that abuse doesn't stop when the abuser was taken out of the equation. No, it continued, possibly forever, because it lived on in the mind of the victim; a slow, pervasive sense of dread as they waited for the other shoe to drop. Kyle always seemed to be waiting for something to happen, and Stan often found him staring out the window with watchful eyes, his hand straying to his neck and resting there.

Stan, for his part, had fallen back into old, shameful habits; habits he hadn't even disclosed to Kyle because he didn't want to burden him. Who knew shame and salvation could be found in a bottom drawer and contained in glass, amber fluid sloshing and burning as it was poured down one's throat? Stan had always had a weakness for the sauce, but in the past year he had found himself straying to the drawer more often than ever, especially when the anxiety and sadness became too much to bear. A couple shots and then he could bear up, at least a little, and keep going on; his racing thoughts quieted for a moment but never completely silent. Hangovers were becoming a part of his routine, but he'd rather deal with the throbbing ache in his temples and the nausea than go through a long, quiet night with his insecurities chewing away at him; taking bite after bite of his flesh, sweet and vulnerable.

He just couldn't reconcile himself with how everything had turned out, even now; even after Kyle had come back to him. Why had he chosen Mark in the first place, even though he was clearly a severe and costly mistake? What had he done wrong? How had he managed to push Kyle so far away that he'd sought out someone else? The questions became bearable after the burn was in his blood and the haziness was draping itself over his brain, and then they were relentless. Was Kyle still thinking about Mark? Was he coming back or laying in wait? What was going to happen next? Were they free? Christ, were they ever fucking going to be free?

Sighing, Stan turned his gaze to Kyle as they walked through the August sunshine, their hands loosely linked. They were in the dog days of summer and the humid heat pressed against their flesh and made it bead with sweat, the little droplets collecting in Kyle's hair and making it gleam. Hot, dense sunlight poured over Kyle's hair and made him practically shine like a torch, his copper highlights burning and making Stan's heart ache. God, he loved him; he loved him so fucking much. He felt it in every fiber of his body, in his blood, his bones, his core. Every part of his being cried out for the boy beside him, even as it cried to see him struggling and hurting so much. It was almost like Stan had felt every lash and welt and laceration on his own skin when he'd seen the carnage that had been left behind on Kyle's; he could feel them now, aching in his flesh and feeding his sadness and rage.

His love certainly hadn't started on that long ago day when they'd stood next to Sparks Pond and confessed to one another. No, Stan's love had started long before that, though he could hardly pinpoint when. It's almost like he'd woken up one day and the truth was there, waiting for him. His heart had finally seen fit to share the news with him that he was uncontrollably and desperately in love with his childhood friend. Stan had always heard that love had a tendency to creep up on a person, and he supposed it was true, because it hadn't knocked on the door; it had crashed through it and demanded to be heard. For awhile, he had barely been able to comprehend the change in himself, and he would look in the mirror and study his reflection, wondering if it registered on his surface. His eyes would hungrily follow Kyle wherever he went and he would just ache with longing, thinking, someday...someday....

_Someday you'll be mine._

Stan almost felt sick admitting it to himself, but he could kind of understand where Mark's obsession came from. There was just something about Kyle that drew you in and made you want to stay. It was almost like he was a warm campfire on a winter's evening; he represented comfort and salvation, safety. Stan had to admit that Kyle was his greatest weakness and his most beautiful downfall, and now he just wanted to keep him forever, make sure he was safe and protected. But, how? He hadn't been able to save him before, and this was a fact that led him back to the bottle as well. Really, all roads seemed to lead back to the bottom drawer these days, and he grimaced at the sour flavor of whiskey resting in the back of his throat even now; the faint stirrings of a buzz still resting in his mind.

"You're so quiet today," Kyle suddenly said, his voice breaking through the humming of insects in the trees.

Stan glanced up at the burnt summer sky, shading his eyes a little against the glare; the brightness cutting through his sensitive eyes.

"Oh, I'm just thinking," he replied, looking back at the ground and blinking away the sun spots marring his vision.

"Oh? Anything you'd like to share?"

He shook his head a little, already feeling frustration beginning to rise. How could he possibly explain everything inside of his head? The things that kept him up at night, even when Kyle was nestled in his arms, sleeping fitfully and sometimes crying out in fear?

"I just hate that even after all this time, you're keeping things from me," he murmured, tightening his grip on Kyle's hand slightly.

Kyle glanced at him and frowned, his summer freckles little dots of cinnamon on his sun-pinkened skin.

"I told you about Damien, Stan. I told you that he -" he broke off, a tiny tremor coursing through their linked hands.

"I know you did, but even so, you're still closing yourself off," Stan replied, trying to choose his words carefully. The last thing he wanted to do was scare Kyle off. Sometimes he felt like if he didn't treat him with kid gloves, the redhead would just scamper off and hide like a terrified woodland creature.

Sighing, Kyle stopped and turned to him, taking his hand away, his arms coming up to wrap around himself tightly. They had been walking next to Starks Pond and the late afternoon sunshine was setting the surface of the water aflame, orange striking the waves and making them burn brightly. For a moment, Stan gazed at it and remembered how the sun had turned it to burnished gold just the year before, when they'd been standing on the shore and drinking beers but becoming intoxicated on one another.

"What do you want to know at this point, Stan?" Kyle asked, his green eyes muted like an arctic ocean; impenetrable and murky. All at once, his hand drifted to his neck and settled there.

Feeling frustrated, Stan reached out and took his hand, his fingers wrapping around his wrist. Kyle looked at his hand for a moment and then gazed up at Stan, his face registering a silent, resigned fear that almost made Stan feel sick to his stomach.

"The collar," Stan murmured, his eyes lingering over Kyle's slender, white throat. "Everything. I need to know everything that Mark did to you."

Quick tears seeped into Kyle's eyes but stayed there, nestled on the precipice but not falling.

"Why? So you can try it out too?" He asked, trying to pull away weakly.

Stan recoiled like Kyle's words had knocked him back.

"Are you fucking for real?" He practically shouted, and before he knew it he was shaking Kyle, his entire world feeling like it was going up in flames. "How could you ever fucking think that?!"

Kyle simply allowed Stan to shake him, the tears falling over now and smattering against his cheeks; his entire body slack as that hateful resignation took hold. After a moment, Stan came back to himself and stopped, his hands still gripping Kyle but beginning to tremble. Leaning his head against Kyle's chest he started to feel the tears falling too, and he hated himself so much in that moment he could hardly stand it. A tiny warmth registered on his face though, and he looked up to see Kyle smiling at him while stroking his cheek; the tears still falling but his eyes clearing just a little. It was almost like seeing the sun after weeks and months of rain, and Stan was immediately disarmed.

"Remember when we stole your father's beer and came out here?" Kyle asked, his voice soft with nostalgia. Glancing over, his eyes lingered on the shore of the pond where the tall grasses swayed in the perfumed summer air. "I think we were right there when we finally stopped fucking around and actually came clean with each other. Remember?"

Stan nodded, his eyes drifting to the sweet grasses as his mind turned backward to that summer night. He'd been scared out of his fucking mind at first, but after they'd both revealed their hearts he had been riding a tide of elation so amazing he didn't think he'd ever come down. But then Mark had happened and everything changed, though his love had never wavered even as he suffered.

"You looked so cute," Stan said, his memories filling him with tenderness as he continued to hold Kyle. "You blushed so much when I told you how I felt. God, remember when you used to be so shy?"

"I was so repressed," Kyle whispered, his warm hand pressed to Stan's cheek and brushing tears away. "I wish I could go back to that time. I want to feel clean like that again."

Stan let go of him, hating that he'd lost his composure and had shaken him. That was probably something that fucking monster would do, not him. What was he even fucking thinking?

"You are clean, Kyle," he said. "You aren't tainted because of someone else's actions. That's their fucking cross to bear, not yours."

"I know, but I want to be close to you again, but it's so hard," Kyle replied, lowering his hands. "I want it to be like that first night, when everything felt so new, you know? There were just so many possibilities...."

"Maybe it won't be exactly like that," Stan said, reaching up to cup Kyle's chin and tilting his face upward. "Because, let's face it, Kyle, it would be unrealistic to try and recapture that night because so much has happened, but we can move forward, can't we? I don't care what happens as long as we aren't standing still."

Smiling, Kyle stood on his tiptoes and kissed Stan's mouth softly, his tongue slipping between his lips and tasting him. Stan's heart began to pound as arousal leaked into his blood, but he needed to retain his control. Fantasies were coming alive in his brain of being with Kyle again, but he couldn't even broach them for fear of hurting him; but still, they were there, burning and calling to him.

Drawing back, a slow sadness crept into Kyle's demeanor, and the clouds were coming to cover the sun again.

"You've been drinking again," he said. "I can taste it. Whiskey, right?"

The need for secrets and pretenses collapsed like a house of cards in Stan's mind, and he didn't look away when he nodded. Deep shame made him want to hide his face, but what good would that do? Hiding from Kyle made as much sense as hiding in a bottle, didn't it?

"It helps me sleep," he said, shrugging a little. "It makes it easier to deal with letting you down."

"Why do you always do that, Stan?" Kyle asked. He brushed some hair off of Stan's forehead while studying his face closely. "You always blame yourself for things that aren't your fault. You internalize everything and then you just suffer in silence."

"I think we're a lot alike when it comes to shit like that, don't you?" Stan asked, cocking an eyebrow. "I mean, I know you're keeping so many things to yourself, about what Mark did, about how it's continuing to destroy you. I know because I can see it, Kyle; every single day."

"We're quite a fucking pair, huh?" Kyle sighed, resting his head against Stan's chest. "You talk about moving forward but everything we're doing is just making it so the grass is growing under our feet. When are we going to wake up?"

Stan gathered him into his arms and kissed his scarlet curls, their aroma calming him even as they ignited excitement and such a potent longing that it almost hurt.

"I don't know," he murmured, his eyes lingering on the smoldering surface of the pond. "I really don't."

Kyle drew away and studied Stan's face again, his own taking on a look that Stan hadn't seen in so long that it was like gazing into the past. All at once, he was taking a hold of Stan's hand and leading him into the woods, the hushed and fragrant trees flanking their path and throwing their shadows over them. Needles covered the floor and with every step their spice drifted upward and surrounded them, making Stan's nose sting just a little.

"Where are we going?" He asked, glancing around and seeing the setting sun glimmering between gaps in the treeline.

"Mark has taken enough from us," Kyle said, his tone sounding stronger than it had in ages. "I think it's time we took something back."

Finally, they came upon a small clearing far from the path and pond, the trees gathering in a ring and nearly blotting out the hazy sky; dusky hints of blue showing in cracks of branches. Stan could only gaze at Kyle in puzzlement as his entire body responded to his little redhead, his heart pounding and hurting at the same time because love had the power to destroy and rebuild all at once. He watched the light brush over Kyle's skin and he could remember so many instances where he felt himself becoming lost just by being near to him. The days when they had been apart were still alive in his mind, and Stan couldn't deny that they had torn some of him down; his foundation shaken even now, even when he had the ability to reach out and touch him.

Kyle cupped Stan's face in his hands and kissed him deeply, warm lips tasting of orange popsicles and summer, his skin smelling of sunblock and the past. For a moment, Stan almost felt like he was being embraced by the boy that had stood on the shore of the pond over a year ago; fireflies winking in the trees as the breezes rushed by them.

Pulling away, Stan looked into Kyle's eyes and the desire was there, rising up and fanning out flames, putting out the darkness.

"Are you sure?" He asked, his hands settling on Kyle's hips and pulling him close.

Kyle nodded and kissed him again, thin arms winding around Stan's back and resting there. As Stan sank into him, it was like he was falling headlong into dreams and memories, and for the first time in a long while he didn't want to rush to that bottom drawer and fish out an all too familiar bottle. No, he could forsake the alcohol for the sake of becoming intoxicated on Kyle, his Kyle, his one and only true love; burning bright and alive in a shaded forest clearing.

******

His rage was controlled as he watched, just watched; dark eyes settling over a forest clearing and hearing Kyle's little gasps.

Mark stood in the shadows, his hands clenched at his sides, and regarded the two lovers lost to one another, never knowing they were being so closely observed. He'd been on their trail for the entire day but they'd never noticed. No, they'd been too wrapped up in each other to know they were being followed; nightmares nipping at their heels and practically screaming at them. He smirked as he watched Stan slide into Kyle, his hands gripping hips that were hatefully bare of bruises and blood. Just give it time, though, they'd be back; they'd be back and they would stay. Mark would make sure of that.

He'd also make sure that Stan was taken care of, too, and Mark's eyes lingered on the dirt floor. For a moment, he could imagine Stan underneath of it, his hands scratching and clawing as the sunlight was blotted out; his idiot eyes taking one last look at the sky as it disappeared. God, Mark could practically taste his fear, his utter helplessness. He'd threatened Kyle with the idea of a gun, but Mark decided he wanted to be as close to Stan's agony as possible. No, a gun just wouldn't do because it just wasn't personal enough. A knife would be perfect, the silver blade sinking in between ribs and drawing out rich blood; Stan's heart stuttering as the beats slowed down. Mark likened it to a clock as it wound down, every tick labored and possibly being its last. It was such a beautiful thought that he could feel saliva flooding his mouth, and he could feel arousal creeping into his blood as his eyes lingered on Kyle's face.

It was bizarre watching someone else fuck his property, but he supposed it couldn't be helped. It wouldn't do to move too quickly and risk taking away the element of surprise. Besides, if Damien had taught him anything, it was that one could take great pleasure in baiting their prey before they were taken. Mark had every intention of taking his time this go around, and the erotic thrill he derived from watching Kyle without his knowledge only fed his hunger. Pretty soon he'd be back where he belonged, forever, in a strong and unbreakable cage of Mark's construction; but for now, he would just enjoy the hunt. Besides, he had so many new weapons in his arsenal, didn't he? It'd be a shame not to test them out.

There was no denying that Damien had reconstructed Mark during their time together. He'd punished him, terrorized him, beaten him until he thought surely he was on the cusp of death. But, no, the demon had always pulled him back from the brink so they could start at the beginning. His body ached even now, every bone and inch of skin suffering from the lash of the whip and cold claws tearing and breaking through. His eyes were still becoming accustomed to the light of the sun, having been subjected to the darkness for so long; the red richness of the sconces splashing over him like so much gore. He had lived his life in chains in a dank prison while Damien delighted in tormenting him, and when he'd fucked Mark every day until he was practically bleeding he'd done it with gleeful abandon; delighting in the sensation of breaking Mark down until he was almost unrecognizable.

But now he was back, and while he still belonged to Damien, he'd been given another chance. Sure, he'd had to part company with some of his soul but who the fuck cared? What mattered was getting his hands back on what _belonged_ to him, what he fucking deserved; what he'd bled for. When he'd finally awoken after Damien had slashed him open, he'd felt so much lighter, so much emptier, but the desire was still there even though he didn't feel quite as human. Kyle's name was the first word on his lips, and that uncontrollable lust hadn't changed, if anything it had only become stronger. Damien kept asking him what his motivation was and Mark couldn't make him understand because how could a demon ever understand love? Love was love at the end of the day; you either understood it, or you didn't. Kyle represented home and that was all that mattered to Mark: to bring him home and keep him there.

Now he could break apart like Damien and move through the air like vapor, his body becoming black mist and passing through impossible places. He did this now, grimacing a little as his molecules broke down and separated, his being passing through the forest and leaving Kyle behind; head thrown back and gasping as Stan defiled him. Mark kept to the shadows as he moved through town, the idiot residents going about their business and hardly aware of the horrors that waited in the dark. Hell was right beneath their feet and it hungered for them, all of them, but Mark had been there; had gotten lost in the labyrinth and managed to crawl back to the light. He filtered through the air until he came to Kyle's house, and then it was just so simple to seep through his window and come back together in his bedroom.

It was so quiet and cool inside of his room, and Mark breathed deeply of Kyle's undeniable scent. It was resting in the carpet, in the walls, in the blankets on his bed. It surrounded him and filled him up to an almost painful extent, and his eyes lingered everywhere. Kyle had been here, slept here, lived here...his essence was pressed into this space like a flower pressed between the pages of a book. Looking at the bed, Mark almost fell back in time and he could remember pushing Kyle against the blankets and taking him there. He'd fought, he'd resisted, but eventually he'd had him, all of him, and Mark could practically taste his fear because it had been mixed with desire. He knew it in the very marrow of his bones; Kyle had wanted him then, and he sure as hell wanted him now. He would lead him to the truth and he would keep him there, always.

Mark just couldn't understand why Kyle insisted on fighting. What they had was so beautiful it was almost not of this earth. He could feel Kyle swimming through his blood like an exquisite goldfish, see-through fins dredging up fires and flame and working him into a frenzy he could barely control. Why couldn't Kyle just admit it? Why was he so difficult?

Coming to the mirror, Mark regarded himself for a moment. He still looked the same as far as he could tell. The same wavy dark hair and pale skin, dark eyes that always smacked of discontent, slim body in dark clothes, his muscles tensed. He glanced away and the sunlight fell over his face for a moment, and he stopped; something drawing his attention back to his reflection.

"Ah, now I see," he murmured, his voice drifting into the air and disappearing with no one around to listen.

A faint reddish cast slid across his irises every now and then, and Mark was reminded of veins torn open and pulsing heartbeats. Now he understood, and he almost had to laugh because Damien always had the power to surprise him.

"A demon's eyes," he smirked, and his mirth elicited another scarlet pulse. "I guess that makes sense."

Glancing over his shoulder, Mark frowned when his bloodied eyes landed on something resting on Kyle's dresser. Turning, he went over to it and picked it up, a photograph encased in a simple frame. Drifting a finger over it, he had to resist the urge to tear his nail through Stan's face as it smiled up at him. It was a picture of Kyle and him together, faces pressed together and looking so fucking happy and content; their eyes clear and unsullied like untouched lake waters. Mark could feel his mind beginning to unravel as it traveled back to that forest clearing and what he'd seen there, his Kyle, his light, his fire, being touched and irrevocably damaged by someone so unworthy. Taking a deep breath, he set the photo back down so hard that a crack appeared in the glass and snaked through; the light shining through the window catching the breaks and bringing them to life.

 _He'll realize the truth soon enough,_ Mark thought, reaching into his pocket and drawing something out. _He won't have a choice._

Going to the bed, Mark lifted up the coverlet and brought it to his face, breathing in Kyle's innocent, musky smell and shuddering a little. He would have him again on this bed before too long, he knew it. He would just have to bide his time and gird his patience, as difficult as that was. He lay the blanket back down and deposited something on Kyle's pillow, grinning already at the prospect of seeing Kyle's face when he found what he was leaving there. He would come back from a day of being with Stan, feeling so happy and relaxed and content, and then he would find it and everything would collapse inside of him, because then he would _know_. He would fucking _know_ that he was never going to be free again; Mark would see to that. Kyle would realize where he belonged, and that he could never escape. Never.

Little did Kyle know that Mark would be waiting at the window and watching as he fell into despair; relishing in his agony. He would watch him as he fell into a restless sleep and his head thrashed on the pillow as the nightmares invaded. He would be waiting and watching always, until he felt ready to make a move. Mark had taught Kyle long ago that he didn't need to touch him to hurt him, and he was going to prove this point that very night in the simplest ways; by leaving a black leather collar behind on a white pillow. Waiting.


	44. Darkness Awakening: Rebecca/Kyle's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Non-consensual sex and allusions to demonic possession, as well as suicidal contemplation (not glorification, mind you; that stuff is no fucking joke), etc. 
> 
> Hey guys! This part was fun to write bc I get off on cat and mouse stuff, as well as psychological warfare. This is the slow build (which I also get off on, lol) so I hope everyone enjoys.
> 
> PS: Everyone's lovely, lovely comments were just wonderful. Thank you so much! <3 Comments are a writer's life blood...they make us want to continue writing, lmao. xD
> 
> PPS: If you haven't already, read The Chocolate War, you guys. It's flipping amazing.

Late-summer rainfall was pattering on the roof and the hypnotic thumps lulled her for a moment, her dazed mind barely able to focus on anything these days.

Rebecca stared at herself in the mirror and could only drift, her muted hazel eyes belonging to someone else, a person she barely knew; a stranger. It had been almost a week since her encounter with Damien, her defilement, and she still hadn't managed to come back to herself. At this point, she doubted that she ever could. Somewhere inside of her fogged brain was a small part, possibly the last bastion of her childhood, that just refused to wake up. There was something inside of her that was too afraid to face the reality of her situation; of what the demon had done to her, and worse yet, her brother's savage betrayal.

She gazed down at her trembling hands and marveled again at how they steadily shook ever since Damien had finished with her. Hours and days stood between her and the nightmare that had crept through her window, and yet it felt like it was still happening. He was still inside of her, tearing her apart, twisting her, destroying her; obliterating everything.

"Just stop," she gasped, closing her eyes against the agony. "Please."

But her mind continued to gnaw at her, in much the fashion of hateful, nagging, racing thoughts; they hung on and clawed away, destroying the host they clung to. She'd been able to hide inside of her mind when Damien was on top of her, but now it was the very thing that was tearing her apart until every waking moment was a war. She was constantly walking across the killing floor, rusty bloodstains clinging to her feet and crushing her bones, ravaged body dying all around her. She was slowly learning that there were certain types of pain that could only get worse, even when the physical aspect ended; the rest was taken over by the mind and given everlasting life.

Rising from her place in front of her vanity, she glanced at the window, terrified that he would be there, watching, bloodied eyes tasting her before they consumed. Thankfully, there was no one there, but that didn't mean anything anymore. It's not like there was any such thing as safety. Mark, the person she had once devoted her all to, had fed her to the wolf and instructed it to devour her headfirst. The world was dark and cold and ugly, so fucking ugly she could barely stand it.

Her feet passed over the carpet in hushed whispers as she walked to the bathroom, her filmy nightdress soft as a breath against her skin. Cold tiles pressed into her soles as she went to the bathtub and turned on the water, her hands continuing to shake as she reached up and undid her bun; chestnut curls cascading and falling almost to the small of her back. She had taken so many baths in the last week that she had practically lost count, desperately attempting to scour away the filth that didn't rest on her skin; no, it lived in it. Rebecca was convinced that even the purification of fire couldn't make her clean again. But, still, she needed to try, and now midnight baths were her solace; hot water and tears scorching her skin.

Glancing at the sink, her eyes rested for a moment on the razor waiting there. Some days it seemed like it had a tiny voice to match the ones in her head. They all kept asking her what she was so afraid of, why couldn't she just do it? She'd feel so much better if she surrendered and fed the blades her desecrated blood. Looking at her wrists, at the pink scars the color of pale salmon, she kept thinking that she could get it right this time, if only -

"No." Her voice floated against the tiles and became lost in the churning of the water, but she could still hear it. It was a cry in the dark but it still had a thread of strength. She could endure. She had to even though she couldn't see the reason. Maybe she didn't need to know it right in that moment. All that mattered was that it was enough to stop her from letting her mind travel to horrible possibilities.

Shedding her nightdress, she avoided her reflection now, not wanting to see her nakedness because it didn't belong to her anymore. No part of her body felt like it was hers anymore, almost like she'd lost the privilege of having privacy. She found it bitterly humorless that the victims almost always seemed to take on the blame for the trespasses of others. Really, it was such a sick fucking joke that it made her want to rage and destroy the world. Damien had taken something that didn't belong to him, as did Mark, but she was paying the price every moment.

Stepping into the scalding water, Rebecca closed her eyes tightly and wished to be elsewhere so she could endure the pain. This was necessary, this was needed; the burn would eradicate the filth, it had to. Slowly, she sunk into what felt like a cauldron, her eyes shut, until she sat, gritting her teeth; sweat already beginning to collect on her. She began to hum softly so she could distract herself, eventually whispering out words that died in the thick and humid air; a song that her mother had often sung to her as a child:

_"I learned the truth at seventeen that love was meant for beauty queens..."_

Finally she was able to open her eyes, and she gasped to see that the water was stained a strawberry lemonade pink, much like the night a razor had traveled up the roads of her wrists. Nausea and terror filled her mouth as her attention slid to the counter, back to the razor that was still sitting so innocently. Shifting her eyes, she stared down at her wrists and saw that the harmless scars were weeping blood, the trails drifting over her skin and splattering into the bath; the substance wafting through the water and giving it its rosy appearance. Shaking uncontrollably, she brought her arms closer to her eyes, the _plink plink plink_ of the smattering droplets filling her ears as they became pregnant and fell.

She opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out, her throat suddenly becoming a desert where sounds went to die. This couldn't be happening. No, she was just seeing things, she hadn't reopened the wounds, no, she'd only thought about it -

Unless she really _was_ losing her mind and was becoming less and less aware of what she was doing, walking through the fog and fire that Damien had left behind. Blinking rapidly, she kept seeing the water change colors: clear, pink, clear, pink, clear -

"Hey," a voice rang through the bathroom suddenly, startling her until her heart was pounding uncontrollably; her breaths coming in gasps.

Looking up, Rebecca saw a face that made every inch of her body writhe in terror; dark eyes boring into her as a slow smile flitted across a cruel mouth. For a moment, she almost felt faint, and she clutched at the side of the bathtub as her arms alternated between weeping gore and appearing perfectly normal; the bathwater shifting colors every time her eyes opened and closed.

"Mark," she managed to say, the word harsh and coming out like a croak.

Her brother lingered in the doorway for a moment just watching her, and she shivered as she felt his eyes drinking her in; her naked body exposed and vulnerable. She wanted to cover herself but she couldn't bear to wrap her arms around herself, for fear that the blood would drench her front. Feeling almost hypnotized, she tore her eyes away from Mark and gazed back down at herself, but her arms were back to normal, the bathwater clear as glass.

"T-the water," she whispered, eyes wide and staring. "It was -"

"You seem out of sorts, Becky," Mark commented, drawing closer; his hard soled shoes tapping against the floor, the sounds digging into his sister's brain. "Did I come at a bad time?"

Rebecca covered herself and started to tremble as her brother came towards the bathtub, her eyes staying on the surface of the water. The tremors started out as tiny quakes but became steadily more violent the closer he got, until she was shaking uncontrollably; Mark a mere arms' length away. He knelt next to the tub and leaned on the edge, his dark eyes fixed on her; steady and sharp.

"What are you doing here?" Rebecca asked, her voice hushed. Fear and revulsion were working through her in equal measures, not just at her brother's sudden appearance but also because of the blood in the bathwater; her scars torn open and weeping.

"I still live here, you know," Mark said, softly. "Who knew demons granted furloughs to their prisoners, huh?"

She shuddered at the mention of her brother's captor, and it was almost like Damien was kneeling beside her instead of Mark.

"W-why?" She asked. "Why did he let you go?"

"Why indeed," he replied, his hand suddenly drifting toward her.

Blanching, Rebecca drew back and pressed herself against the other side of the bathtub, her back brushing up against heated porcelain. She stared at Mark's hand with horror, nausea flooding her at the very idea of his skin against her own.

"Don't," she said. "Don't touch me."

Smiling kindly, he drew his hand back and leaned his cheek against it; eyes suddenly so warm and inviting. Something moved in them though, almost like a pulse, and all at once Rebecca was filled with even more potent fear.

"I just wanted to wash your back," he murmured. "Is that okay?"

Now she felt completely gripped in the tides of insanity, and all she could do was stare at him.

"No, that's not okay," she said, a hard edge developing in her tone even as she continued to shake. "You sent Damien to my room, you...you told him to -"

"An eye for an eye, Becky," he said, cutting her off. For a moment, he almost looked sad but that quickly faded away in the wake of another pulse of his eyes; a scarlet throb that disappeared as soon as it came. "Is what I did to you any different from what you did to me?"

She wrapped her arms tighter around her breasts when she saw his eyes roaming again, and she shook her head; hot tears falling down her cheeks and into the unsullied bathwater.

"We were trying to save ourselves, Mark," she whispered. "I saw what you were doing to Kyle. You were beating him and terrorizing him." Looking up, rage started building in her blood. "You were getting close to fucking killing him. Don't fucking deny it!"

"To think you'd sacrifice your flesh and blood without a second thought," Mark said, and now he really did look sad; his face transformed with cutting devastation. Somehow, a shard of remorse fled Rebecca's breast, but she tried to fight it down.

"I've loved you for so long," he continued, eyes softening and becoming his own again; brown and warm and filled with pain. "How could you do that to me?"

"I-I didn't have a choice," she said, glancing down; away from his dizzying pull. Mark had always known how to manipulate and push her in any direction he wanted, but she was determined to fight. "Mark, you've changed. You used to be so kind, it used to just be you and me, but ever since Kyle..." she trailed off, not sure of what to say.

"Damien hurt you," he said, and now his hand was drifting toward her again before she could move away. Shutting her eyes, she could feel it coming to rest on her shoulder and she was disarmed at its softness, even as his touch seemed to burn her. "I didn't want him to, Becky. He forced my hand."

"I'm sure he did," she said, bitterly.

"I want to take away what he did, if you'll let me." Slowly, his hand slid up to her hair and he was bringing a dampened length of curl to his face; smelling it deeply as his strange eyes closed. When they opened again, they were still so kind but so off; so horribly off. She shivered openly but could feel herself becoming trapped in his gaze, almost like a mouse succumbing to a serpent.

"What did he do to you?" She asked, loosening her arms and allowing them to fall to her sides; tremulous drops of water slipping down her breasts. "He said he was going to hollow you out and throw you to the flames."

Mark smirked.

"That fucking jackal was always the master of ambiguity." Letting go of her hair, he ran his finger down her cheek, her throat, her clavicle, until finally it came to rest on the top of her breast; heavy and warm and full of need. She gasped softly when it drifted lower, her face flushing hotly.

"I'm not going to tell you what he's done," he said, deft fingers slipping over the silver ring in her nipple. Suddenly, his hand opened up and it closed over her breast, cupping it softly. "You don't need to know what I've been through, and I'd like to think we're on equal footing now that you've had a taste of what I've experienced."

"It was horrible," she murmured, leaning into his touch a little and hating herself for her weakness. She continued to gaze into his eyes and she was falling so far, so fast, a chasm opening up and swallowing her. "I keep thinking he's going to come back. It's like he's still here, like he's still inside of me."

"Believe me, I know," Mark said, leaning forward and licking at her bottom lip. Suddenly, his hot mouth was pressed against her aching lips and she was kissing him; her arms lifting from her sides almost against her will and snaking around his neck.

Rising from the bath, Rebecca could feel the water sluicing over her body and for a moment she almost felt clean. Damien still lingered in her brain, red eyes fever-bright and filled with torment, but a sensation of being cleansed came to her as she allowed Mark to carry her to the bed; his strong arms holding her so close it was almost like they'd never been apart. Her mind was a foggy sea and thoughts were sluggish as they passed through, but she didn't care; Mark was home. He'd come back for her.

A feeling of near-paralysis gripped her as Mark lay her back against the pillows, his insistent hands sliding over her body and pulling her close. Why did she feel so eerily calm and pliable all of a sudden? All she'd had to do was look in his eyes and somehow she knew that this was where she belonged; with him, always with him. It was almost like he was thinking her thoughts for her, his presence settling in her brain and taking away her will; but she didn't care. Why didn't she care?

Pushing away, she looked into his eyes again and they were bloody pools opening up like demon's jaws; wide maws burning fury and hate and hellfire.

"You aren't my brother," she whimpered, succumbing to his hot mouth again; his skilled fingers sliding between her legs and making her gasp. "You aren't Mark!"

He answered by spreading her thighs and sliding into her, his hips moving slowly as he settled into her warmth. Throwing her head back, she cried out softly, her hands gripping his shoulders even as her mind continued to unravel. Why couldn't she fight?

"I love you so much," he whispered, thrusting into her softly; eradicating Damien's presence but filling her up with another darkness. She whimpered because he felt so different, almost empty, but so full of heat and potent rage; love following close on its heels and leaving her breathless.

"Mark, please," she sobbed, wanting him to stop and keep going at the same time; her body fighting a war as it was ripped apart. Her mind was filled with images of blood-tinged bathwater and Damien watching her in the mirror, her brother's foreign eyes, and suddenly she couldn't take it anymore. Rebecca felt something splinter inside of her head and suddenly she was clutching at her brother like her very existence depended on it; her teeth biting at his shoulder as he drove into her. All of the sunlight fled from her as she became lost in his arms, but she didn't know how to fight anymore.

"You're mine," he whispered against her ear, his thrusts speeding up and driving her toward a glorious edge. "You'll always be mine."

"Yes," she moaned, mind continuing to splinter as she fell over the precipice. Glancing down, her arms were once again dripping gore but all she could do was laugh now because surely she was losing her mind. Why did they ever think they could be free? Mark always got what he wanted, didn't he?

Later, after he'd held her in his arms, the glacial moonlight pooling on the bed as it flooded the window, the rains having abated, Mark had instructed her to sit up so he could brush her hair. Still feeling dazed, she felt the brush sliding through her strands as he tenderly cared for her.

"Remember when I used to do this when we were little?" He asked, sliding a finger along her jaw. "You used to ask me to brush your hair every night. You said if I didn't you wouldn't be able to sleep."

"Yes, I remember," she smiled, her mind wandering to places where she felt safe and captured. Her thoughts went back in time and she could see Mark as a child, when he'd been so fragile and kind and new. Where was that boy now? Where was the girl she used to be? "I miss those days. Don't you?"

"In a way," he said, continuing to brush through her hair softly; the curls trailing over her naked back and emitting their rosy scent. "Although, I'm pretty happy with how things have changed."

"You're different," she said, her voice small. "I can't put my finger on it, but...it's there. When you touch me, it doesn't feel like you anymore."

"Don't worry about that," he said, sliding a hand up and settling it over her breast; over her thudding heart. "I'm back, and I'm going to take care of you, Becky. Forever."

Reaching over the side of the bed, he rooted around in the pocket of his jeans. After a moment, he lifted something into Rebecca's line of sight; the moonlight glinting off of its silver surface. Her collar dangled between his fingers, and he was smiling that slow, casual smile again; hypnotic eyes glowing their red-black brilliance as she studied the article he'd withdrawn.

Wordlessly, she tilted her head forward to hide her shame as he draped it over her throat, his deft fingers easily closing it and leaving it to settle against her flesh. Its weight was minimal from a logical standpoint but all at once she felt a million times heavier. Even so, she still couldn't fight; her mind refusing to wake up and instruct her to flee.

"So beautiful," he murmured, kissing the back of her neck.

After a moment, she could feel the brush being pulled through her curls again, and she sighed. She had wanted so badly to fight, to stand up to her brother, but somehow he had pulled her strings again; manipulating her completely. But now, now it felt different somehow, just like him. Something wasn't right here, and she felt even less inclined to resist, almost like the option was being ripped away from her. Glancing down at her arms, Rebecca almost cried out to see that the blood was flowing again, its bright shine silvered by the moonlight, but when she blinked it was gone.

 _I'm losing my mind,_ she thought, struggling to keep the tears from falling again. _That's the only explanation that makes sense here._

She could only assume that Damien's assault and her brother's subsequent confusing return were putting an end to what little sanity she'd had left. The tightrope she'd been walking seemed to become even more tenuous as she felt the brush sinking through her curls, her brother's hands caressing her back on occasion. It would seem that he fully intended to carry on the way they'd been for so long, with his 3 am visits and keeping a close watch over her; always. But what about Kyle? What was going to become of him? Closing her eyes, she tried to blot out everything for a moment, trying valiantly to find a thread of sanity, of sense. 

"I love you," Mark breathed, dropping a kiss on her shoulder.

This was enough to send her thoughts off course again, because even his voice seemed different now. What had happened to him while he was with Damien?

What was going to happen to all of them now?

*******

"How have you been sleeping, Kyle?"

Kyle glanced up sharply, his hand clenched around his mug of mint tea; his eyes studying Dr. Boyer's serene, placid face. She was wearing another of her trademark scarves, its glittering threads catching the early September sunlight.

"Why?" He asked, tired mind churning up suspicion.

She shrugged softly, her pen poised over the pad on her knee.

"You seem a little tired, is all."

He nodded slowly, studying the retro Garfield mug steaming before him. He was tired, horribly tired. He hadn't had a decent night's sleep since he'd come home and found the black collar waiting on his pillow. The nightmares had started in that very moment, flowing inward and converging, even when his eyes were open; even before night had a chance to fall. Terror gripped his every moment, in sleep and in the waking hours, his mind practically numbed as he fought rising hysteria. This had happened over a week ago, and he was still reeling.

To say that the bottom was yanked from beneath his world when he'd seen that hideous strip of leather waiting for him was an understatement. When he'd stood in his hushed bedroom and regarded the hateful artifact from his past with Mark, he'd felt his grasp on reality starting to slip a little. At the time, he'd been riding on a glorious high from being with Stan again, had almost been feeling normal, but it had been wrenched away in less than a moment. What was worse was the fact that Mark had been there, Kyle could feel it, his presence, and now even his room felt tainted; dangerous.

He'd hunted through his room at the time, of course; making sure to check under the bed and in the closet. Nothing else had seemed really disturbed except for a picture frame he had on his dresser. It was a photograph of him and Stan from last year, their hopeful faces close together and their young eyes so full of excitement and promise. The picture had been taken long before Mark had seeped into their lives, and at this point Kyle could barely recognize the two boys smiling and gazing at the camera. He was almost certain they didn't exist anymore, not after everything that had transpired. His finger had traced the crack running through the glass of the frame and he'd just started to cry, sinking to his knees in the cool stillness of his room and mourning the past while being terrified of the future.

Now the collar had been relegated to a bottom drawer but it hadn't been forgotten, not by a long shot. Even though he hadn't looked at it since he'd hidden it away, its horrors traveled with him in his mind and in his flesh, no matter where he went. Mark was still perched in his head, plucking at his fledgling sanity and pouring his darkness into him until the light was destroyed, his hope along with it.

Without really thinking about it, Kyle's hand came to rest on his throat when he spoke.

"I've been having a lot of nightmares, so I haven't really wanted to sleep."

A quick jot on her pad and then she was gazing at him, her brow knitted.

"What sorts of nightmares, Kyle?"

He sighed and set his mug on the table beside him, completely at a loss as to how he should answer that question. Kyle knew he'd sound completely insane if he dared to tell her that the nightmares didn't just seem like dreams, no, they felt like promises; portents of what was to come. Prophecies, maybe? What was funny without even being remotely humorous was the fact that Mark wasn't in any of them, but his presence could be felt. It hardly made any sense to him, but that's the only conclusion he could come up with. He knew, somehow, that Mark was waiting and watching even inside of his nightmares, but he never saw his face.

The nightmares weren't standard either. You'd think that they would be filled with snarling monsters and visions of blood, of violence and frenzied fear, but no, there was none of that. They merely contained Kyle walking down a lonely road always by himself, just walking, walking, walking, but he never got anywhere. What was awful about it was that everything seemed so normal, the sun shining and lighting up the sky, but there was a feeling on the edges that filled him with caustic terror. It was almost like if he'd been able to lift up the backdrop of the world he'd be able to find the tensed, waiting monsters hiding there; always lingering in his subconscious but not making a move. They waited and stretched their claws, just looking for the opportunity to rip him apart, but they never came.

How could he tell her any of that? Mark was there but he wasn't there at the same time. He didn't have to touch Kyle to torment him, but he'd learned that long ago; so long ago now. He kept waiting for Mark to show up at his door because clearly he was back, but he never came. He'd left the collar to get inside of Kyle's head and he'd accomplished that; he was in his blood and bones, gnawing away.

"I'm just on edge because school is starting tomorrow," he finally said, idly stroking his throat. "I guess my dreams reflect that, you know? Like, I show up to class and I'm not wearing any pants or whatever."

She watched him closely, her eyes lingering on Kyle's hand resting on his throat. For a moment, he thought she was going to call him on his obvious lie, but she just continued to exude serenity; her pen scratching across her pad.

"You're going to be a senior," she commented. "This is a big year for you, it makes sense that you'd be a little nervous."

"I guess," he replied, starting to feel antsy. A side effect of fear and going without sleep made him feel nervous and a little manic. It was crazy, really. You'd think his ass would be dragging but his burgeoning insomnia only served to make him feel more restless.

"Have you spoken with that person lately?" She suddenly asked, cutting right back to the heart of the matter.

Kyle smirked. Leave it to good old Dr. Boyer to blindside him, her placid good nature only serving to cover up her shrewd capabilities. Well, turnabout was fair play, wasn't it?

"Have you ever read The Chocolate War?" He countered, crossing his arms.

She blinked, thinking for a moment.

"I don't believe I have."

"Well, there's a character in it I always found compelling," Kyle said, pressing his crossed arms against his chest more tightly. "This dude is kind of like the driving point behind the entire story, you know? He's really smart and conniving and cruel; always two steps ahead of everyone else. Like, you hate him but you can't help but admire him at the same time."

"Oh?" She asked, writing a little quicker now. "Characters like that are always pretty interesting, aren't they?"

Kyle shrugged and looked down at the coffee-colored carpet.

"I guess, but they always seem to win, don't they?"

Silence filled up the room for a moment and Kyle dared to look up at Dr. Boyer. She was watching him closely, a slow look of recognition filtering into her eyes.

"Not always, Kyle," she replied, softly. "People like that don't always win."

"Well, he did in the book. He came out on the other side smelling like a fucking daisy." Standing, he went to the window and looked out at the quiet street; bathed in dusky sunshine, the sidewalks glittering just a little.

"Well, that's why we need to remember that we're writing our own stories here," Dr. Boyer said, her voice careful and measured. "We have a chance to have some say over what happens in our lives."

Kyle scoffed, his eyes still lingering on the winking chips of stone embedded in the sidewalks.

"Yeah, to some extent, but that doesn't stop the bad guys from coming out on top, does it?"

*******

When Kyle came out of Dr. Boyer's office that afternoon, he was met with a face that he hadn't seen for weeks, not since the shore and its horrors.

"Rebecca," he said, coming toward her. "I've tried to call you, but -"

Rebecca turned from the sign-in sheet at the receptionist's window and he stopped when he saw the look on her face; his eyes lingering on the silver collar looping her throat. He sucked in his breath to see it glinting in the light of the waiting room, but it was the expression she was wearing that really frightened him. She seemed so vacant and lax, her eyes almost doll-like and so, so lost. They weren't hers; they belonged to a stranger.

"Kyle," she said, smiling slowly. "How have you been?"

Cautiously, he walked to her but the feeling of something being supremely off continued to rise in Kyle's gut. He couldn't put a finger on it, but something had changed; something fundamental and important. Drawing closer, he saw that her hazel eyes lacked their usual warmth, resembling sea glass and revealing nothing.

"You're wearing your..." he trailed off, pointing to his throat. "Rebecca, what's going on? Are you okay?"

All of a sudden, the door to the office opened and muted sunlight fell in tatters across the floor. For a moment, Kyle was dazzled by its yellow brilliance, but then -

"Mark," he whispered, eyes growing wide as tides of complete, unhinged fear crashed through him. Without even realizing it, he started to retreat.

Mark walked into the office looking the same as always, wavy dark hair brushed off of his forehead and his handsome face cool and collected. His slim body was clothed in jeans and a black t-shirt, his skin dusted over with a faint tan from the summer sun. The only thing that seemed to be different were his eyes, which, like Rebecca's, didn't seem exactly right. His presence threw the whole room into a skewed focus as Kyle desperately backed up, every one of his molecules screaming out in unrelenting terror.

"Kyle," he smiled, coming up behind Rebecca and placing his hands on her shoulders. Smiling vacantly, she reached up and placed a hand on one of his and squeezed slightly.

"W-what are you doing here?" Kyle asked, swells of nausea rising up his throat. "You're supposed to -"

"Aren't you even going to ask me how I've been?" He asked, cutting Kyle off. "I'm sure you're just dying to know, aren't you?"

Kyle swallowed down the bile in his mouth and clenched his teeth, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

"I don't give a fuck how you've been," he seethed. "The only thing I care about is that you aren't supposed to be here. Damien -"

"Damien," Mark smirked, pulling his sister closer and nuzzling his face in her hair. "You mean your savior? Really, Kyle; how foolish are you?"

Something flitted across his eyes then, taking Kyle by surprise as he tried to make sense of it; a red cardinal swiftness that came and went. Shaking his head, he stared deeper into the abyss of Mark's eyes but they were the same as always; sharp, cruel, and cutting.

"Besides," he purred, closing his eyes as he reveled in Rebecca's scent. "You changed your mind about giving me back. Remember?"

Kyle blanched, slight tremors breaking out across his flesh, which was starting to crawl as he watched Mark fondle Rebecca.

"No, I-I didn't, I still wanted..." he started to say, but the words died on his tongue.

"The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, isn't it?" Mark asked, opening his eyes and revealing that fleeting cardinal again; scarlet bright but disappearing back into the forest in a flash. "That's always been your biggest downfall, you know."

"Shut your fucking mouth," Kyle snapped, managing to scrape together just a little backbone. His mind was scrambling at Mark's' sudden appearance and his callous words. He was also kicking himself for thinking he could ever be free. Desperately, he tried to appeal to Rebecca.

"Rebecca, what are you doing?" He asked, reaching out to her. "I thought you changed your mind. You said -"

"I know what I said, Kyle," Rebecca replied, her other hand drifting upward and settling on her brother's. "But we were wrong."

Kyle could only gape at her for a moment, and then he was staring at Mark, a dark, unsettling understanding breaking through his nightmare-laden brain.

"I don't know what you did to her, but I know you're manipulating this situation. Just like always," he said, lowly.

"What's wrong with a sister wanting to love and support her brother?" Mark asked, kissing Rebecca's cheek as his awful eyes pinned Kyle in place. For a moment, he almost felt like he was falling headlong into an open pit of fire and waiting spikes; thirsting for blood and pain. Mark's next question cut through his brain like a guillotine though.

"How have you been sleeping, Kyle?" He asked, his sharp eyes catching every detail and cataloguing them away for later. "You look tired."

It was his knowing, smug look that finally broke the camel's back, and Kyle suddenly found his feet. Moving swiftly away, he kept his sights trained on Mark as he continued to watch him; an acidic little smile playing on his lips.

"That's none of your fucking business," he said, opening the door and reveling in the sunlight pushing back the darkness. "Stay the fuck away from me, Mark."

Kyle shot one last sorrowful look at Rebecca, who continued to allow Mark to hold her closely; never moving or flinching. He could feel Mark's eyes cutting into his skin as he rushed out of the office, only able to really breathe again once the door was shut and blocking out the nightmare that just wouldn't fucking end.

 _There's just no fucking way_ , he thought, frantically. _This can't be real, it just can't be._

Looking over his shoulder, Kyle rushed away toward home, paranoia leaking into his brain as his feet carried him quickly down the sidewalk. Stan was at work and his mom had her own doctor's appointment that afternoon so Kyle had told her he'd just walk home when he was done. Every one of his nerves felt like it was filled with electricity as he hurried home, his eyes constantly looking backward to make sure he wasn't being followed. It didn't matter, though, Mark may as well have been right on his heels at this point. His presence was so heavy and strong that Kyle could practically feel him breathing down the back of his neck.

How had he managed to escape Damien? How could he possibly be back? Kyle never felt more stupid and deceived than he did in that moment, realizing too late that evil always aided evil. Why would a demon see fit to deliver him and Rebecca from one of its own kind? Floundering in fear and hopelessness, Kyle tried to ignore the wolf at the door as he passed through late-summer sunlight, the sky wide over top of him and rife with slow evening colors; a waiting sunset bleeding orange and pink across the clouds. Bloody sunbeams colored the pavement and for a moment he almost thought he was wading through gore.

A shift in the atmosphere behind Kyle made his breath hitch in his throat, and when he looked back he couldn't be sure that someone hadn't been there. The air was feeling heavier with every moment and all at once footfalls - or were they just in his head? - were racing behind him, thumping against the concrete and drawing closer. Tears filled up his eyes as he practically started to run, but now the road home felt so much longer; almost like it was never going to end. Every person he passed suddenly had leering, monstrous faces, their teeth lit up by errant ruby patches of the dying sun.

Malevolence was pushing on Kyle's back as he continued to move, his hysteria rising and making him sprint now. All at once, the sensation of claws raking down his back made him eke out a strangled sob, and before he knew it he'd fled from the sidewalk and plunged into the fragrant darkness of the forest just off the path. He ran and ran, the claws still seeming to rest on his skin and the phantom presence pressing in around him, his body overrun with the sensation of being watched and followed. Through the treeline he could see the sun resting on the horizon, a clot of blood throwing its brilliance over Starks Pond that shone like new dimes in the distance. Before he knew it, he had managed to veer wildly off course and he was suddenly back in a familiar clearing, recognizing it as the place where he'd finally been able to give himself back to Stan.

Stopping, he looked dazedly around, his adrenaline pumping and tearing apart his fatigue-ravished mind; leaving him feeling spent and alert all at once. His body was buzzing with too many things for him to even begin to make sense of his situation, but as his gaze traveled along the ring of trees, a new horror came alive in his mind.

Every single tree had been carved and warped, each of them wearing a heart that had two letters inside:

**M & K. M & K. M & K. M & K. M & K.**

Over and over and over. He blinked his eyes and the trees would switch back and forth, appearing normal for a moment and then he'd blink again and the letters would be there; scarlet and dripping as the setting sun passed over them.

Kyle sank to his knees as he started to sob, his mind coming to its end as everything converged at once; the terror, the pain, the agony. The nightmares had stepped into the waking hours and they were eradicating any healing he'd done while being apart from Mark. The sweet memories he'd had in this place were all but being murdered as he sobbed into his hands, his mouth tasting of bile and anticipating the flavors of blood that were sure to pass over his tongue before too long. Mark was back. He was back, and now Kyle knew that safety was an illusion. Everything was a fucking illusion.

"What am I going to do?" He asked, his hands pressing against his eyes as he continued to break apart.

But the only answer that came was the rustling of the wind in the trees, their silence speaking volumes as Kyle cried alone; his very sense of reality crumbling with every passing moment. Dr. Boyer had been wrong. The bad guys always won, and they would continue to win so long as the earth turned and innocence attempted to thrive.

When was he going to be free? Oh, God, when the fuck was he ever going to be free again?


	45. Darkness Awakening: Kyle's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There aren't really any triggers for this chapter, I guess. I mean, there's smut and violence, but nothing too crazy, all things considered, lol. I hope everyone enjoys, of course...just view this as the slow and careful buildup; the calm before the storm. Shit is just going to get exceedingly twisted from here, I'm afraid. Honestly, I'm looking forward to it bc I'm sick, but that's just me, I guess. xD

Much like the previous year, the first day of school dawned hot and overwhelmingly bright, the September sky an almost electric shade of blue. As soon as Kyle opened his eyes he was met with unbearable anxiety and a slow fear trickling through his bloodstream; his head cloudy due to fatigue. The unsettling dreams had visited him again during the night, eerily similar to his frantic trip home from therapy the day before. He walked endless sidewalks in his dreams, unseen horrors waiting in the wings and breathing their malice on his neck but never touching him. His mind traveled back to the clearing in the woods by Starks Pond, at the way the trees had been mutilated, and he kept asking himself if what he'd seen was a hallucination, or the truth?

Every time he had blinked his eyes the trees had changed. In fact, everything had changed, shifted, and warped until he had finally collapsed sobbing on the ground and the sun had disappeared beyond the mountains. By the time he was able to finally drag himself to his feet, he was shivering and hours had passed, his entire body wracked with fatigue as a vague chill settled in the air. He'd managed to make his way home where his parents chastised him for being so late, but he'd waved their concerns away by saying he'd been with Stan; that they'd been making plans for the new school year. Their final year of high school, a year that, by all accounts, should be rife with promises and anticipation.

Kyle almost had to smile bitterly as he sat up and contemplated the colors of morning falling through his window. Promises? Anticipation? What the fuck did either of those concepts have to do with him now? He couldn't even focus on normal, everyday things anymore because that psychotic asshole was back, already bleeding into his life and wreaking havoc. His eyes strayed to the drawer where the collar was resting and he had to fight back the rage that sprang to mind. Kyle's entire body started quaking with fear and rage and fatigue, his tired mind frantically clawing for solutions, but none came. He had no choice but to go to school and face Mark, just praying the whole time that he wouldn't try anything with hundreds of witnesses around.

 _Yeah, like he's ever given a shit about what other people think,_ Kyle thought bitterly, standing and going to his dresser to pull out some clothes. After dressing, he peered at himself in the mirror behind his door and couldn't help but sigh a little. He just looked so _tired_ , so drained; large purplish circles under his eyes from fretful nights and a pinched look on his face from fear and worry. It felt like he was being broken down every single day, even before Mark had made his appearance again. Months of trauma and abuse were settled firmly in his flesh, dragging him backward and lingering in his thoughts. He was almost positive that he could never go back to being the person he used to be. That person was dead, and those days were gone.

*****

Harbucks was bustling that morning, the interior packed to the rafters with chattering students, but Kyle, Stan, and Kenny still managed to snag their usual table. Kyle had arrived last because it had taken all of his resolve to force himself out the door, but when he finally showed up Stan had his usual latte waiting for him. He'd gratefully taken it and settled in next to Stan, Kenny sitting across from them and nursing his typical small, black coffee. They'd sat in companionable silence even though Kyle could feel Kenny staring at him, a fact he tried to ignore. Finally, Kenny had broken the quiet with one of his usual frank observations.

"Dude, Kyle, you look like hell, man."

Kyle and Stan exchanged tired glances and sighed a little. Stan knew about the collar on Kyle's pillow of course, and Kyle had texted him after coming home the night before about running into Mark and the incident in the forest. He'd been vague because he was so exhausted, had just wanted to try and sleep, to forget, but Stan knew that Mark was back and that Kyle was fucking terrified. He'd long since stopped making comments about his boyfriend's haggard appearance because it made too much sense, unfortunately.  Kyle set his latte down and shrugged helplessly at Kenny. What could he really say at this point?

"I had kind of a," he paused and took a sip of his drink, vanilla flavors sliding down his throat, "rough summer. I guess I'm still trying to get over it."

Kenny studied him for a moment, his hands toying with his cup.

"You did just kind of fall off the grid," he commented. "I saw Mark and his sister the other day, by the way."

"At the gas station?" Stan asked, wrapping an arm around Kyle's shoulders.

 "Yup," Kenny replied, taking a little sip and smacking his lips. "I worked my fingers to the bone in that stinking hole the whole goddamn summer. Anyway, they seemed as close as ever, Mark and Rebecca." His eyes flitted to Kyle's, icy blue and questioning. "He seemed a little off, though. I mean, more so than usual. Last I heard he was in the hospital, when did he get out?"

Kyle had to think a moment. God, had it really been that long since he'd sat down and had a conversation with Kenny? The beginning of summer felt like it happened a million years ago now.

"He was sent home at the end of May," he replied, struggling to remember.

"I'm going to go out on a limb and assume your rough summer had something to do with him. Am I right?" Kenny asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"More or less," Kyle murmured, looking down at the table; Stan's arm tightening around him. "He managed to convince my mom that I should go with him to the eastern shore, and -"

"Wait, I thought you guys got back together months ago?" Kenny asked, gesturing between Kyle and Stan. "Why would you go on vacation with Mark?"

Kyle and Stan shared another weighted look. Kyle couldn't help but slump a little under the weight of so much information. How the fuck could he ever explain this situation to _anyone?_ It seemed impossible. Christ, there was still so much shit that even Stan didn't know at this point.

"It's a long fucking story," Kyle sighed, sliding his cup back and forth across the counter.

"Give me the Cliffs Notes version," Kenny said, crossing his arms.

"Fine," Kyle replied, running a hand through his curls. "I'll just give it to you straight, okay? I don't want to be with Mark but he still wants to be with me, and for lack of a better term, he's -"

"Fucking crazy," Stan interjected. "The dude is certifiably insane, Kenny. That's the most important thing you need to glean from all of this."

Kenny just stared at them for a moment, his eyes darting back and forth as a frown drifted across his face. Finally, he shook his head a little.

"I could've already told you that," he said, picking up his cup and drinking the last of his coffee. "It's not like Mark is very good at the art of subtlety. He's creepy as fuck."

"You don't know the half of it," Kyle said, rolling his eyes. "He also has some information about me that's...kind of incriminating, so he was using that to his advantage."

Kenny sat forward then, crushing his empty cup in his hand.

"Are you saying he fucking blackmailed you, Kyle?"

Kyle nodded, looking down again as shame washed through him.

"What the fuck, Stan?" Kenny snapped. "Why the fuck didn't you stop this? You knew, right?"

Kyle glanced at Stan, recoiling a little at the look of fury on his face at Kenny's questions.

"Back off, Kenny," he said, voice low. "I wanted to go to my parents, Christ, I wanted to go to the fucking cops, but Kyle told me I couldn't."

"Who the fuck cares?" Kenny practically yelled. He snapped his eyes back to Kyle's. "How could you let him treat you this way, Kyle? The information he has on you can't possibly be that bad!"

"It is, Kenny," Kyle whispered. "It really is. Besides, it doesn't just involve me, it involves Rebecca, too."

Kenny sat back, his face softening a little at these words.

"You're protecting her too, aren't you?"

"Yes."

Kenny ran a hand through his rough, blonde hair in frustration.

"You always do shit like this, Kyle," he said. "Why do you always have to fucking save everyone to the detriment of yourself?"

Kyle gripped the table, his knuckles going white.

"I thought I'd found a way to get rid of Mark," he said, shaking a little. "But I don't know what happened. He's back, Kenny. He's fucking back and I have no idea what he's going to do next. I mean, he already talked Cartman -"

He slapped his hand over his face, mortified that he'd almost revealed Mark's plot about having Cartman attack him. Stan was the only person who knew about it because Kyle had been too ashamed to tell anyone else. Kenny watched him closely, his eyes narrowing.

"What about Cartman?" He tipped his head a little, thinking. "Come to think of it, he did miss a lot of school last spring, didn't he? And he's really been keeping his distance." Sighing, he rubbed his face. "Guys, just fucking tell me what happened, please? I feel like I'm completely in the dark here."

"It's just a lot to unpack, dude," Stan said, breaking off a piece of bagel and popping it into his mouth. "Let's just say Cartman acted like Cartman and he took it to an extreme level."

"Everything he does is extreme," Kenny replied, rolling his eyes before focusing on Kyle again. "What'd he do to you, Kyle?"

"I'm not answering that question," Kyle replied, blushing. He could practically feel Cartman's disgusting hands on his body and pushing him against the table; hot breath brushing against his cheek. He shuddered. "It's too horrible. Just leave it alone, Kenny."

"I think I can kind of figure it out just from your reaction," Kenny said, nodding his head. "And if it has something to do with Mark, well...that speaks volumes as well." He glanced at Stan, his face still registering anger. "Why haven't you fucking knocked fat ass out, Stan? Jesus Christ, what the fuck have you been doing?"

"It's kind of hard to defend my boyfriend when he won't fucking let me do anything!" Stan yelled, slamming a fist down on the table.

Kenny snorted.

"All I know is if this shit was happening to Butters I wouldn't wait for him to give me permission to act. I'd just fucking do it."

"That isn't fair, Kenny," Kyle interjected, hoping to diffuse the growing tension. "There's a lot of factors in this situation that I haven't told you about, okay? Stan isn't going to save me by going around and punching people out."

"Believe me, I want to," Stan said, cracking his knuckles. "But I also don't want Kyle to go to prison or something."

"Wait, what? Prison? What the fuck is Mark holding over your head, Kyle?" Kenny asked, looking more and more exasperated as the seconds passed.

"I'm not going to say, but would you believe me if I told you it gets so much worse than that?" Kyle asked, hardly believing the situation himself. Mark was terrifying enough, but how could he ever explain Damien's influence in all of this?

"How the hell could it possibly -" Kenny started to say, but then he was cut off by a rotund, loud interruption.

"'Sup, fags?" Cartman asked, slamming his bag down on the table and taking the fourth chair, a huge coffee and cruller lodged in his plump hands. "Thanks for fucking letting me know we were meeting here this morning, by the way. Assholes."

Violent nausea rose up in Kyle's throat at Cartman's sudden presence and he pushed his chair back so quickly it squealed across the floor. Tremors coursed through his flesh as he came face to face with his own assailant, the sensation of his hands on his skin still crawling through his body. Kenny had been right, Cartman had missed a fair amount of school after Mark pummeled the shit out of him, and somehow by the grace of God Kyle had been able to avoid him almost completely for the remainder of the school year. But now, now -

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Cartman?" Stan asked, his voice dangerously cold and soft. He was staring down at the table as he spoke, but then he lifted his gaze; his dark blue eyes icing over and becoming remote. They settled on Cartman as his hand came to rest on Kyle's thigh, trying to calm him even as he shook and fought back the bile rising from his stomach.

"That's a good fucking question, Stan," Kenny chimed in, turning on Cartman as well. "What's the big idea, fat ass?"

Cartman glanced at both of them, amber eyes wide with surprise until he looked directly at Kyle. After a moment, a slow smirk flitted across his lips, only serving to make Kyle feel even more nauseous. Taking a huge bite of his cruller, Cartman stared him down and then shrugged casually.

"Water under the bridge, right? It's not like anything happened." His eyes continued to settle on Kyle, almost making him feel weighted down. "Right, Kyle?"

Kyle could only look away, deep shame and humiliation burning through him as he fought back the fatigue settling in his brain. He choked back a sob as the horrible sensation of feeling deeply unclean pervaded his whole being. The school year hadn't even begun and he already felt like he was cracking apart. He went to clutch at Stan when suddenly he realized that he'd risen from his chair and was walking around the table. Before he could even respond, Stan was grabbing the front of Cartman's shirt and hauling him up from his chair, shaking him violently.

"You have some goddamn nerve, you fucking piece of filth," he seethed, continuing to shake a shrieking Cartman; his cruller and coffee forgotten. Kenny stood and watched with interest, his arms crossed. Kyle could only watch as Stan reared back and punched Cartman right across his mouth, his head snapped to the side from the impact. After a moment, he punched him again; over and over until Cartman's face was awash in blood.

Pandemonium broke out in Harbucks then, with everyone racing over to see what the ruckus was about. In a flurry of chairs scraping back and a crowd of rushing bodies, Stan continued to beat on Cartman until Kyle couldn't take it anymore.

"Kenny, fucking stop him!" He yelled. "Let's just go!"

Kenny hesitated for a moment, just watching as Cartman got his ass handed to him, until he reached out and clasped a hand on Stan's shoulder.

"That's enough, dude. I think you've made your point. Besides, we need to get the fuck out of here before they call the cops."

Stan was visibly shaking now, his fist covered over with blood as he continued to hold onto Cartman. Somehow, Cartman was still conscious but his face looked just as battered as the night Mark attacked him, a fact which filled Kyle with sudden intense pleasure; completely contrary to his usual passive tendencies. Somehow, he found his voice and he almost didn't recognize himself.

"That's what you fucking get, Cartman," he said, rising from his chair and slinging his messenger bag on his shoulder. "You better stay the fuck away from me for the whole year. Come on, you guys."

Unceremoniously, Stan dropped Cartman and grabbed his own bag, Kenny following suit. Before they left, Kenny reached over and flicked Cartman's bleeding forehead.

"You better fucking listen this time, dude. Next time I don't think Stan'll be able to stop. See you at school!"

Smiling, he waved a little until Kyle pushed him toward the exit, his heart feeling inexplicably lighter than it had when he'd woken up.

******

"I can't believe you did that," Kyle murmured, gazing up at Stan with admiration. They'd already stopped by the nurse's office to get an ice pack, which Stan was gingerly holding to his rapidly swelling knuckles. They were standing at their lockers, readying to part ways for their respective homerooms but not wanting to leave each other. Lifting his hand, Kyle touched Stan's cheek tenderly.

"You didn't have to do that, Stan."

Stan brushed his lips against Kyle's hand and grinned.

"Yes, I did. It was a long time coming. Besides," he shrugged a little, "I was imagining he was Mark the whole time. God, what I wouldn't give to just lay into that crazy motherfucker."

Kyle smirked, knowing exactly what Stan meant. He'd never been a particularly violent person but after the hell he'd been through, he would love to knock the shit out of Mark.

"Mark's kind of a different story, though," he said, anxiety rising in his gut and depleting some of his prior elation at Cartman's downfall. "Besides, I need to fight my own battles."

"You've been fighting all of your battles on your own for the past year," Stan argued. "That's why I had no fucking clue what Mark was really doing. It makes me sick that he treated you that way and he's just walking around free as a bird. It's like consequences and rules just don't apply to him."

"He's always two steps ahead of everyone else," Kyle said, softly. For a moment, he thought about the character from The Chocolate War that he'd mentioned to Dr. Boyer. Life was just a chess game for characters like that and people like Mark. While everyone else was still trying to figure out their current move, they'd already mapped out their next five. How the fuck could he ever get away from a person like that? Shaking his head, he leaned against Stan a little.

"The bell's about to ring," he said. "We should probably go."

"I don't want to," Stan replied, wrapping an arm around Kyle and pulling him close. "I almost don't want to let you out of my sight. Every time I do, crazy shit happens."

"It can't be helped," Kyle shrugged, backing away and holding up his phone. "I'll text you if anything happens, okay?"

"Text me anyway," Stan smiled. Leaning down, he kissed Kyle's forehead. "Let's meet here so we can go to lunch together."

"Right," Kyle said, turning away. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Stan hadn't moved away yet; was just watching him. He tried to smile reassuringly.

"I'll be fine, Stan. Promise."

********

Just like the year prior, Kenny was in Kyle's homeroom and was saving a seat for him when he finally wandered into the classroom. Looking around warily and not seeing any signs of Mark, Kyle sat next to Kenny and sighed, setting his bag on his desk. Kenny leaned back in his seat, a Pocky stick hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"What'd that guy do to you, Kyle?" He finally asked. "I mean, I have your back and everything, but I'd like to know what happened so I can actually help."

Kyle tucked a curl behind his ear and watched as Kenny took a bite from the Pocky stick, other students slowly filing into the room and filling up the other seats.

"He...hurt me," he managed to say, that old familiar shame creeping in and stealing his words. "He wanted to control me, Kenny. He said he loved me, but I don't think he's even capable of feeling love, all things considered."

"Hurt you?" Kenny asked, eyes narrowing. "Like, physically?"

"More or less," Kyle replied, hanging his head. "And psychologically. I'm not sure which was worse, honestly."

"That son of a bitch," Kenny murmured. After a moment, he sat up sharply and yanked the Pocky from his mouth, his eyes resting on the corner of the room. Startled, Kyle followed his gaze, his heart beginning to thud painfully when he saw what he was looking at.

Mark was in the doorway, hands jammed in his pockets and his headphones on; dark hair gleaming in the morning sunshine flooding the classroom. His face was passive, none of his demeanor registering that he'd even noticed he was being watched. He walked into the classroom without even glancing around, taking a seat in the back and setting his bag aside. Immediately, he pulled his phone from his pocket and began to scroll through it.

"Give me the word and I'll go knock his ass out right now, dude," Kenny said, gritting his teeth. He jammed the piece of Pocky in his mouth and chewed it aggressively. "Just give me the fucking word."

Kyle placed a hand on Kenny's arm, hoping he couldn't detect the tremors passing through his body.

"You don't need to do that, Kenny," he said. "Let's just leave him alone and hopefully he'll do the same."

"I highly fucking doubt that," Kenny replied, staring daggers at Mark. Mark hadn't even looked in their direction yet.

"I appreciate your concern but just let it go for now, okay? Besides, haven't we had enough fights for one morning already?"

Kenny smirked and offered a stick of Pocky to Kyle, who took it and slid it between his lips.

"No, dude. I could see Cartman and Mark get their just desserts for the entire goddamn day. They fucking deserve whatever they get."

******

The rest of the morning passed smoothly enough, even though Kyle was on edge the entire time; his nerves shot and his heart stuttering and racing. He couldn't believe the similarities between the first day of his senior year versus the previous year. He could vividly recall being terrified of being noticed by Mark back then too, but now the circumstances were so different it was staggering. He could barely comprehend how things had managed to change and remain exactly the same. He was still afraid of Mark but now the stakes were so much higher, and he made sure to keep his eyes on Mark as much as he could; always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Fate had not been kind to Kyle in terms of his schedule, a fact which had its own bitter humor he couldn't deny. He didn't share any classes with Stan but he had almost every period with Mark. Every new class was an exercise in torturous paranoia and fear, Mark just a few seats away and giving off his dark presence. Kyle tried to keep a low profile and sat next to Wendy or Butters, his eyes drifting over to Mark every few moments, but Mark never looked at him. That was the most disturbing development: Mark never once made any overtures towards him. In fact, he was acting as remote and aloof towards Kyle as he had before they'd really started talking in the first place. This only reinforced Kyle's growing suspicions and terror, and he found it almost impossible to concentrate on anything his teachers were saying.

"Are you going to tap your pencil like that for the entire period?" Wendy whispered, glancing over at Kyle. "You did that during calc, too. And you're really pale. What's going on?"

Embarrassed, Kyle quickly set his pencil down and crossed his arms. He hadn't even noticed he'd been doing that, and he winced to feel droplets of sweat collecting on his forehead.

"I just feel a little tired," he replied, looking down at his textbook; the words swimming on the page. "I haven't been sleeping very well."

"Clearly," Wendy said, studying him; one dark eyebrow raised. A look of concern crossed her face. "Are you okay, Kyle?"

"Yeah, yeah. Of course," Kyle said, waving his hands nervously. His eyes skittered over to Mark who was still not paying any attention. Out of nowhere, his heartbeat picked up and Kyle gripped at his desk.

"Kyle?" Wendy asked, reaching toward him.

Recoiling a little, Kyle held up his hand.

"I'm fine, seriously. Just give me a minute." Frantically, he glanced at Mark again, terrified because he hadn't looked at him for a minute. Frowning, Wendy followed his eyes and looked at Mark as well.

"Are you guys having a fight or something?" She asked. "Doesn't he normally sit next to you?"

"We had a falling out," Kyle said between clenched teeth. "Let's just leave it at that."

Wendy still appeared skeptical, her gaze flitting between Mark and Kyle.

"Kyle, you look like you're about to pass out. Are you sure you're okay?"

Sudden nausea crept into Kyle's mouth when he heard Mark clear his throat quietly. Terrified, he raised his hand to get the teacher's attention.

"Can I go to the bathroom?" He croaked, feeling everyone's eyes resting on him; making his perspiration thicken and begin to fall.

Surprised, the teacher nodded her head.

"Sure, Kyle. Here, take the pass and go."

Kyle practically jumped out of his chair and grabbed the pass, his shaking legs carrying him swiftly from the classroom, down the hall, and into the bathroom where he locked himself in the first stall. Pressing his back against the cool partition, Kyle tried to get control of his ragged breaths as he continued to shake uncontrollably. He covered his face with his hands and willed himself not to cry, berating himself for being so fucking weak and helpless.

 _Fucking sack up,_ he chastised himself. _Mark isn't even fucking doing anything! Get a fucking grip already, you weak, pathetic -_

A sudden sound, a small one, almost like tiny taps, invaded his thoughts, and he pressed his hands against his mouth as the tremors returned. All at once, Kyle didn't feel like he was alone in the bathroom anymore, but that was impossible; he hadn't even heard the door open. A heavy, oppressive presence surrounded him suddenly, and it almost felt like the day before when he'd frantically been trying to make his way home. The feeling of heavy breath and scraping claws plucked at his back and neck, and he whirled around; eyes frantically scanning every inch of the stall.

 _This is crazy. I'm all alone in here, there couldn't possibly be anyone else,_ he thought, mind screeching at him.

The sound of a sink being turned on almost made him fall to his knees in terror. Instead, he backed up until he was pressed against the icy tiles of the back wall next to the toilet. After a moment, another sink was switched on, the bathroom all at once filled with the echoing sounds of rushing water. Kyle had to fight the urge to shout for help, his hands pressed to his mouth again and sliding up into his hair where they became tangled in the curls. Trying to keep himself grounded, he yanked on his hair to keep him focused. Fighting back the desire to just succumb to his terror, he slowly stepped toward the front of the stall and peered through the crack, his desperate eye scanning the area in front of the sinks to see if anyone was there, but it was empty; completely empty.

 _They could be out of my line of sight, but I swear to God, that fucking door hasn't opened or closed the whole time I've been in here,_ he thought. _This has to just be a fluke. It has to._

An eternity seemed to pass as Kyle waited in the stall with the sounds of the rushing water filling up his head and crawling into his brain. That oppressive feeling of being watched and hunted was still all around him, and more than ever he just wanted to disappear, to will himself away. He was clearly losing his mind if running water had the power to completely immobilize him. A crazy giggle rose up his throat but he swallowed it down, his hands flat against the cold stall door as he tried to pluck up enough courage to just open it and leave. It would seem that Mark hadn't lost his touch when it came to breaking Kyle down. Christ, he didn't even have to speak to him or look at him to get inside his mind and destroy him. Now it felt like he was everywhere all the time, to the point where even a bathroom sink was an instrument of terror.

Kyle stifled a scream when he heard the door open, and all at once the sinks were shut off even before the person entering had walked across the floor. Instantaneously, the bathroom was plunged back into silence and Kyle heard Butters' tremulous little voice breaking through the air.

"Kyle? Kyle, are you okay?" He asked, his voice filled with concern. "The teacher sent me to check on you because you've been gone for so long. Did you need me to take you to the nurse?"

Relief, like sweet, cold wind, passed over Kyle and he nearly sagged against the wall; body spent and boneless after being released from constant tension. With a shaking hand, he managed to unlock the door and he stepped out, his eyes going to the sinks immediately and seeing nothing there. His gaze flicked to the mirror and he studied himself, his slim form wrapped in jeans and a t-shirt, red curls mussed from being pulled. Weariness was written all over his pale face, his freckles standing out starkly as his green eyes darted here and there. He looked like a startled, skittish animal, unforgivably stupid and jumping at its own fucking shadow.

"Kyle?" Butters asked, coming closer but keeping his distance. His blue eyes registered concern and nervousness in equal measures.

"I'm fine, Butters," Kyle said, softly. "Let's just go back to class."

When they returned to the room, Kyle immediately looked at Mark but he still wouldn't look up. Instead, this time, Kyle noticed a tiny smile playing across Mark's mouth; disappearing as quickly as it came, ghost-like and fleeting.

******

The subsequent weeks flowed by in much the same fashion, with Kyle steadily falling apart day by day as Mark stayed aloof, his eyes never straying to meet Kyle's. However, Kyle lived with the sensation of being watched, studied, and observed round the clock as each day passed more slowly than the one before it. He didn't even know it was possible, given the fact that Mark never seemed to pay him the slightest bit of attention, opting instead to stick close to Rebecca and constantly being on his phone. Paranoia bloomed inside of Kyle like a poisonous garden, and over time he could feel his sanity eroding away. He became even more listless and tired, his concentration shot and his appetite all but disappearing. Every night he was plagued with the same dreams of walking, walking, walking and never getting anywhere, but the monsters were waiting; they had to be. Mark was waiting, biding his time. He knew this. He didn't know how he knew this, but he did; and Kyle lived with this knowledge in his blood and bones, destroying him.

He'd all but turned into a zombie when Stan came to the end of his rope, suddenly throwing his fork down during lunch one day. Reaching out, he grabbed Kyle's shoulder and shook him softly, eliciting a tired yelp from the redhead's trembling mouth.

"You can't go on like this, Kyle," he said, studying his face. "You're fucking falling apart. You realize this, right?"

Kyle set down the forkful of salad he'd been debating putting in his mouth, his eyes resting on the remainder of his untouched lunch. He'd been losing weight steadily and now all of his clothes were becoming too big again. Food didn't have any taste. In fact, nothing had any flavor anymore; drinks, the wind, Stan's kisses, the prospect of the future. Everything had become colorless and dull, his entire life muted as he grappled with relentless fear and paranoia. A sudden chill tore through him, and he wrapped his sweater tighter about himself.

"I don't know what you want me to do about it, Stan," he replied, eyes downcast and struggling against the brightness of the cafeteria. More than anything he wanted to be hiding in his room, his eyes straying to the bottom drawer where that hateful collar was hidden. Every now and then he felt the need to lift it out and study it, his gaze occasionally drifting to the picture frame that had the inexplicable crack snaking through the glass.

Sighing, he dared to look into Stan's beseeching eyes. It hurt to see him so concerned, but he felt so tired, so unbelievably wrung out.

"I mean, I'm taking my medication and going to therapy," Kyle continued, voice fading out a little. "And Mark hasn't done anything, so..." He shrugged.

"He doesn't have to fucking be openly terrorizing you to have an effect," Stan seethed, throwing a glance at Mark who was eating with Rebecca across the room. He was smiling and laughing like he didn't have a care in the world. "I know exactly what he's doing, Kyle. I don't know how the fuck he managed to get that collar in your room, but he left it for a reason. He's fucking with you and letting you torture yourself because he knows he's getting in your head."

Kyle just stared at him, the threat of tears burning his eyes. He knew that Stan was right, but what the fuck could he do about it? He couldn't exactly confront Mark over doing absolutely _nothing._ That was just fucking insane.

"I told you he was smart, Stan," Kyle said, leaning his head on the table and shutting his eyes. "He always gets what he wants in the end."

"No, I'm not letting him fucking win this time," Stan snapped, rising from his chair. "He's fucking killing you, and I'm not just going to stand by and watch anymore. Enough is enough."

"Stan, wait!" Kyle yelled, sitting up and attempting to grab at the back of Stan's shirt as he began to stride away. He missed, and before he knew it, Stan was making his way across the cafeteria toward Mark and Rebecca. Sluggishly, he made it to his feet and followed after him, his heart already stuttering in his chest and making him gasp for breath.

By the time Kyle had caught up to him, Stan had already reached Mark's table and had swept his arm across the its surface, flinging all of Mark's food onto the floor. Reaching out, he took a hold of the front of Mark's shirt and yanked him forward.

"Stan, stop! You can't -"

"Listen, you son of a bitch," Stan sneered, shaking Mark much like he'd done to Cartman on the first day of school, "you better fucking leave Kyle alone or I'm going to split your goddamn head open."

Rebecca was just staring at Stan, her hazel eyes wide as her hand strayed to her silver collar. Seeing her finger the delicate links made Kyle feel faintly ill and he had to look away, his gaze flicking to Mark and his heartbeat increasing at the expression on his face. He looked completely bored and nonplussed, his eyes settling on Stan like he was studying a type of useless grub. His eyes skittered to the floor and he frowned, taking in the sight of his decimated lunch.

"Good job, asshole," he said, voice calm. "I was actually pretty hungry today."

"That should be the least of your concerns, you dirty prick," Stan seethed, shaking him again. "Quit fucking terrorizing Kyle. He doesn't want to be with you, and your sick fucking obsession needs to stop. Now."

Amazingly, Mark smirked a little as he finally looked up and his eyes fell on Kyle for the first time in almost a month. For a moment, Kyle almost felt like he was falling headlong into a noiseless, airless void as those dark eyes appraised him, their hunger practically drinking him in until there was nothing left. Taking a step back, Kyle could almost feel the noose tightening as his limbs screamed out for respite, anticipating the promises of bruises and blood. Quaking, he clung to Stan as Mark continued to study him.

Laughing now, Mark reached up and delicately unhooked Stan's hands from his shirt. Dusting himself off, he leaned his head on his hand, his fathomless eyes sliding back to Stan's.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said. "The last time I checked, doing absolutely nothing to another person wasn't exactly a crime. It's not my fault if Kyle is a fucking mess. I mean, just look at him." He gestured to Kyle, the movement languid. "He needs to get some sleep, clearly, but that's none of my business. In fact, none of Kyle's day to day affairs are my problem anymore." He snorted. "Good riddance, might I add."

"Now listen to me, you fucking -" Stan started to say, his hand shooting out and taking hold of Mark's shirt again. Mark merely allowed himself to be grabbed, smiling all the while and looking at Kyle again, dark eyes flashing for a moment and knocking Kyle for a loop. The flash of cardinal brightness came and went, but he'd seen it; he was sure. There was something there, something different, and it was almost like he was looking into someone else's eyes entirely, though he'd seen that red sheen before, in a dark, horrible place that reeked of nightmares and terror.

Stan was rearing back to smash his fist into Mark's smarmy face when Mr. Mackey appeared, face stern and cutting through the tension immediately.

"Stan, just what do you think you're doing?" He asked, arms crossed. "I know you aren't trying to start a physical altercation in the middle of the cafeteria, m'kay?" He glanced at Mark, his eyes narrowing with concentration. "Hold the phone, didn't you get in trouble in the past for hitting Mr. Cotswolds here?"

Quickly, Stan let go of Mark's shirt and tried to appeal to the counselor.

"Mr. Mackey, you don't understand, I -"

"Now I remember," Mr. Mackey cut him off, cocking an eyebrow. "You ended up getting suspended last year, didn't you? Didn't you learn your lesson the last time?"

"Sir, it isn't what you think," Kyle spoke up, coming forward. "Stan was just -"

"Stan was just going down to the office," Mr. Mackey broke in, his voice stern. "And unless you want to go with him, I suggest you stay out of this, Kyle." Glancing at Mark, his face became awash with sympathy. "Are you okay, Mark?"

Mark smiled his most disarming smile and adjusted his shirt, his face taking on an expression of dazed confusion.

"I think so, Mr. Mackey," he said. "It just happened so fast. We were just sitting here and Stan threw our lunch on the floor." He pointed to the floor and rested a hand on Rebecca's arm. Rebecca just gazed at Mr. Mackey, face impassive and hazel eyes guarded.

"You'll be cleaning that up too," Mr. Mackey snapped, cutting his eyes to Stan, who continued to glower at Mark; his expression murderous. "Now, go. Don't make me tell you again."

Stan gave Mark one last scathing look before he glanced apologetically at Kyle. After a moment, he turned on his heel and marched out of the cafeteria, broad shoulders rigid with anger. Mr. Mackey sighed and rubbed his hands together, watching him as he went. Kyle had to fight back the impulse to run after him, his skin crawling as he felt Mark's gaze settling on him, practically burning him where he stood.

"Well, you guys have 10 minutes of the period left," Mr. Mackey sighed, looking at his watch. "Make the most of it, I guess."

******

Kyle was gazing at the clock on a Friday afternoon, the hand slowly inching its way towards the 3 and freedom. He was just so tired, and he couldn't stomach another second in that classroom; not with Mark sitting so close by. After Stan's error of judgement in the cafeteria, he'd been suspended for a week and every day without him had just proven to be more of an obstacle. Now the weekend was closing in and Kyle could breathe a little bit easier, his sluggish brain overrun with quiet fear and something worse. Ever since Mark had finally looked at him, now he wouldn't stop. His eyes followed Kyle everywhere he went, and he made it a point not to look away when Kyle stared back at him, their gazes locking and doing battle with one another. He always had a knowing, satisfied look on his face that cut Kyle to the marrow of his bones, because it smacked of the diabolical; plans being made and plotted out.

As a result, Kyle was falling apart at a faster rate, his mind almost pleading with him to just give in and submit. Fear of the unknown was proving to be worse than outright, unbridled torture, a fact which Kyle could scarcely comprehend. He hadn't had a proper night's sleep in so long, and he was so hungry but he couldn't eat. Every part of his body seemed to be shutting down as he was smashed beneath Mark's thumb, and this time he hadn't had to do _anything_ , really. Kyle couldn't help but feel absolutely hopeless and stupid and worthless. He almost got the impression that he was inviting his own misery in and giving it a place of honor, his entire being giving off vibes that begged Mark to destroy him bit by bit.

Recklessly, he had contemplated throwing caution to the wind and just going to his parents or the police, but what could he tell them? That Mark was looking at him? That he was inside of his head? He'd sound completely insane. Besides, it's not like he had any physical proof of the atrocities Mark had visited on him in the past. The wounds and bruises had long since faded, and the scars could easily be explained away by someone as intelligent as Mark. It didn't help that Mark still had so much incriminating information against him, and while Damien had promised that he wouldn't let him use it, Kyle could hardly put any stock in that. Damien had also promised to take Mark back, to keep him away, and how well had that worked out?

No matter what he did, Kyle felt like he kept running into brick walls, all of his avenues of salvation cut off until he was wandering alone. He had Stan on his side and Kenny was always down to support him, but once again, Mark seemed to have all the cards in his favor. It would seem that his ultimate goal was coming to fruition: he was effectively isolating Kyle and making him lose hope. Eventually, he'd be so broken down that he would surely fall into Mark's arms of his own accord, just to end the suffering and fear. On the heels of all of this was Mark's over-arcing threat to eradicate Stan by any means necessary, and Kyle was amazed that he hadn't already done; whether with a gun or a knife or god knows what.

At this point, Kyle was so wracked with weariness and fear and hopelessness that he could barely function. He'd all but given up his extracurricular activities and volunteering, although he'd still signed up for tutoring just like last year. Mark had signed up as well, and now every Friday afternoon served to be a torturous exercise as Kyle waited with baited breath for something, anything, to happen. This particular Friday in early October was different though, because Kyle was quickly coming to a place where he couldn't keep dragging himself forward. As he sat in his last class and writhed under Mark's unrelenting gaze, he decided to skip tutoring and go straight to Stan's house. He wanted to get lost in his arms and sink into his kisses, their bodies pressed together in his little twin bed. When the bell finally rang, he jumped up from his seat and hightailed it out of the room, some of the tension sliding from his shoulders when he felt Mark's eyes slipping away from him.

The pervasive feeling of being pursued and almost captured nipped at Kyle's heels as he strode out into the autumn air, the chill taking him by surprise as he contemplated the falling red sun; bloated and teetering distantly close to the horizon. A cold snap had broken out across South Park just the day before, and now there was the heavy feeling in the air of impending snow. Clouds were filtering across the sky in grey droves as he hurried away from the school, his scarf wrapped around his mouth and becoming soggy from his breath. Squinting his eyes against the cutting winds, his eyes lingered on the last few patches of electric blue sky as he tried to clear his mind. More than anything, he just wanted to leave school and misery and Mark behind for awhile, his heart practically screaming for Stan with every step he took. He knew that Stan had to be going out of his mind with boredom during his suspension, the endless hours only broken up by the mountain of chores his parents had heaped upon him.

Raw rage flooded his thoughts as he drew closer to Stan's house. It made him sick that Mark always seemed to manipulate every situation to suit his designs, his charms and attractive shell fooling every adult he came into contact with. Fleeting guilt and shame invaded Kyle's thoughts at this idea as he turned up the walkway toward Stan's front door. Hadn't he been just as duped as everyone else? He'd seen so many red flags and ignored them because Mark's words had seduced him, his handsome, predatory nature taking him over completely. He'd been just as stupid and foolish as everyone else, hadn't he? People like Mark always seemed to have the world in their pocket, their treachery aided by the luck of the draw and blessed genes.

Kyle tried to put Mark out of his mind as he waited on Stan's doorstep, breath hitched in anticipation after ringing the bell. In a few moments, he heard footsteps inside and his heart started to pound, but it was due to delicious anticipation instead of abject fear. The door swung open and there was Stan, looking so cute and disheveled in his plaid pajama pants and blue t-shirt, his black hair tousled from lounging around all day. Blushing, Kyle smiled and waved a little.

"Hey," he said.

"What are you doing here?" Stan asked, cocking an eyebrow. "I thought you had tutoring today."

"Fuck tutoring," Kyle replied, surging forward and wrapping his arms around Stan's waist, pushing him back into the house. Hungrily, he reached up and started kissing Stan's mouth, his foot reaching out deftly and kicking the door closed.

Groaning, Stan sunk into the kiss but managed to pull away after a moment. With heavy, bedroom eyes, he looked down at Kyle and brushed some of his wayward curls from his forehead.

"What's gotten into you?"

"Everything," Kyle replied, beginning to unbutton his coat. "Just everything, Stan. Can you take me upstairs? Please?"

Stan's eyes widened a little, murky desire flooding them and a flush rising in his cheeks.

"Kyle, are you -"

"Fuck me, Stan. Okay? I need this, and so do you."

Stan studied him for a moment, his eyes lingering on Kyle's face and then sliding down his form, where his jacket was open and exposing the thin t-shirt beneath. Wordlessly, he reached out and took hold of Kyle's hand, leading him up the stairs, into his room, and straight to his bed. Slowly, he undressed Kyle and pushed him back against the blankets, his hot hands lingering everywhere and stroking pale, ivory skin until the redhead beneath him was drooling and arching into his touch.

"Where is this coming from?" He asked, settling his hand around Kyle's hard cock and pumping it slowly.

Kyle cried out at the sensation of Stan's hand wrapped around him, and he bit softly at his broad shoulder. Stan continued to stroke him until he thought he was going to lose his mind.

"I just couldn't take it anymore," Kyle gasped, his belly coiling as his body came undone beneath Stan's touch. "I just need you so much, Stan. I love you."

"Mm, I love you, too," Stan murmured, dipping low and kissing Kyle's gasping mouth, a string of saliva stretching between them when he pulled back. "I love you so much, Kyle."

"Can I..." Kyle started to ask, but then he felt a little shy; his eyes downcast. Gently, he felt Stan's hand on his chin, tilting his head back.

"What?" Stan asked, deep blue eyes so warm and full of adoration.

"Here, I'll show you," Kyle said coquettishly, sitting up and pushing Stan until he was leaning against the pillows but still upright. Slowly, Kyle spread Stan's legs and settled himself between them, his mouth opening and taking Stan's cock in between his lips. With careful, deep strokes he slid his mouth up and down Stan's cock, relishing in his throaty moans and grunts, Stan's fingers winding through his curls and urging him on. Feeling uninhibited and almost free, Kyle arched his back so his ass was in the air, lifted so that it was in Stan's view; ready and willing to be taken. He almost moaned with happiness when he felt Stan's hands drifting from his hair and coming to rest on his backside, squeezing the cheeks softly and spreading them a little.

"I love when you're like this," Stan said, panting as Kyle continued to deep-throat him. "Sometimes you seem so afraid when we're doing it, but when you're like this, I know you want me."

"I always want you, Stan," Kyle said, taking his mouth from Stan's cock so he could swirl his tongue around the head. "It's just that Mark fucks with my mind, and then I'm afraid of everything."

"Will this help you forget him?" Stan asked, giving Kyle's ass one last, long squeeze, his hands coming to grip him around the waist. Lifting him from the bed, Stan swung his legs over the edge and draped Kyle across his lap facing away. Reaching back, he fished a bottle of lube from the crack between the bed and the wall and flipped it open, coating his fingertips. Slowly, he slid his slicked fingers into Kyle's opening and slid in and out, stretching him and preparing him for what was to come. Overcome at the sensation, Kyle threw his head back and gritted his teeth, his eyes shut tight as Stan's fingers invaded his heat.

"You like that?" Stan asked, sexy voice practically growling in Kyle's ear. "Do you want more?"

Kyle could only nod his head, his entire body coming apart as Stan worked him over with his skillful, loving hands. This was so different from the agony he'd experienced with Mark. Sure, Mark had a way about him, a finesse, but more often than not he wanted to punish Kyle, not make him feel good, but here, in Stan's room, Kyle always felt amazing. More importantly, he felt _safe,_ so wonderfully safe and cherished. Slowly, Stan's fingers slipped from Kyle and then he was being guided over Stan's throbbing cock, its delicious length sliding into him in agonizingly slow measures, saliva drifting over his lips as he was filled. Before too long, Stan was fully seated within Kyle, and then he was whispering hot words into Kyle's ear, telling him how amazing he felt; how fucking hot he was. Kyle almost came when Stan told him how crazy he made him, but he held back, wanting to enjoy this moment for all it was worth.

Stan lifted Kyle delicately, dropping warm kisses on the back of his neck as he slowly fucked him. Reaching around, he grasped Kyle's cock and pumped him with every thrust, never rushing and always taking his time, wanting every moment to be perfect. Kyle could only try to keep his mind in the here and now, his whole being just wanting him to lay back and dissolve as ecstasy arrested him.

"I love hearing you moan," Stan breathed, continuing to fuck and tease him. "I can never get enough of you, Kyle. Did you know that?"

"Yes," Kyle gasped. "Oh, God. Stan, I'm going to -"

"Just let go," Stan whispered, kissing his shoulder. "We can just do it again later."

Kyle managed to hold on for a couple minutes longer, but before too long he was coming, his warmth splattering over Stan's hand and soaking his fingertips. Stan kissed along his shoulder and neck the whole time, bringing his saturated hand to Kyle's lips so he could lick the come away, finally turning his head so their lips could meet as he finished too, a beautiful warm wetness filling Kyle entirely. When they both came down they were soaked in sweat, and Kyle rested his tired head against Stan's strong shoulder, nuzzling into the feeling of Stan's hand brushing through his tangled curls.

"God, I needed that," Kyle whispered, licking a little at Stan's sweaty cheek; enjoying his salty flavor.

"Me, too," Stan said, settling his hands on Kyle's slim, white thighs and squeezing them slightly.

"I wish we could always be like this," Kyle said, sudden melancholy bleeding into the haze of euphoria that was clouding his brain.

"We will be," Stan said, kissing Kyle's fragrant, red curls. "Everything's going to be okay, Kyle. I promise."

*****

The euphoria didn't abate the whole way home, and Kyle even found himself humming as he made his way down the sidewalk. The sun had disappeared behind the mountains at this point and the horned moon was out and drifting among heavy clouds. Little flecks of snow had started filtering down and sugaring the sidewalks, and Kyle noticed that the nip in the air had turned decidedly frigid. Shivering, he hurried towards his house, enjoying the little aches in his body from where Stan had squeezed him; a delicious pulse throbbing in his backside. They'd both had an insatiable appetite this particular afternoon, and by the time Kyle had finally left he didn't think he'd even be able to walk more than a few feet. Stan had given him a last lingering kiss and begged him to stay the night, but he'd turned him down because his mother expected him home. In fact, she had texted him and asked him where he was, which had prompted him to finally roll out of Stan's bed and get dressed.

"I'll come stay the night tomorrow, okay?" Kyle had asked, kissing Stan's throat. "You work in the morning, right?"

"Mhmm," Stan had said, licking Kyle's bottom lip like he could never get enough of his flavor. "And then I'm off for the rest of the weekend. Remember, we don't have school on Monday? I'm off then, too. Just stay over for the entire time. I promise I'll make it worth your while."

Kyle had grinned and sighed into Stan's parting kiss, his heart thudding with every caress, every beat radiating love and comfort. Stan was his safe haven and he hated to leave, but the real world was calling; hateful reality breaking into their bliss.

"I'll be back before you can even notice I'm gone," he'd promised, backing away.

"I already miss you," Stan had said, looking adorably melancholy.

"You are so lame sometimes," Kyle had laughed, but he loved him for it all the more. His Stan, his one and only true love.

Coming to his front door now, Kyle was lost in a tide of love sickness and the residual haze that came with crazy amounts of sex. It wasn't until he'd already pushed the door open that he noticed a familiar black car sitting in front of the house, the sight of it making him seize up with terror immediately. Feeling almost like he was caught in a dream, he looked into the house and saw the beginning of a nightmare unfolding, his brain yelling at him to turn around and run, but before he knew it he was being ushered into the house by his mom.

"Kyle, it's so rude to keep your guest waiting," she chastised, pushing him into the kitchen. "Really, what's gotten into you?"

Blinking under the sudden harsh brightness of the kitchen, Kyle came face to face with complete and utter terror, misery seeping into his brain and making him want to fall to his knees. Mark was sitting at the kitchen table, enjoying a mug of Mrs. Broflovski's famous cider, handsome face awash in amusement as he regarded Kyle's obvious discomfort. His strange eyes began to devour Kyle before he began to speak, his deceptively elegant voice cutting through Kyle like a million knives.

"Don't be too hard on him, Sheila," he said, smiling slowly. "I don't think Kyle was expecting me, but that's okay. Now we'll have a chance to make up for lost time." Turning his head, his gaze continued the rapid consumption of Kyle's quivering flesh.

"Won't we, Kyle?"


	46. Final Trial: Kyle's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There aren't any trigger warnings for this chapter, per se. I mean, shit is ramping up and Mark is still fucking crazy (has he gotten worse? I'm not sure. What do you guys think?) but nothing trigger-ish happens, I don't think. There's violence and intimidation and general insanity, so, does that count?
> 
> I'm not going to lie, I glory in chapters like this, so this was a lot of fun for me to write. I can understand if this isn't everyone's bag but for me, this shit is like crack (or wine. Yeah, that's better. I loves me some wine, you guys. haha). Does that make me a horrible person? Most likely, but I can live with that, lmao.
> 
> Anyway, ENJOY! <3
> 
> PS: I had NO fucking clue this story was going to be this long when I started. With this chapter, I've broken 300K words, can you believe that?? This shit is like a fucking epic, holy cow. xD Major props to anyone who's actually read the whole thing. Truly, you guys are the real stars here, lol.

"Mark, would you like some more cider? There's plenty left."

Mark set his mug down and smiled his most disarming smile, flashing his perfect, pearly teeth.

"I think I've had all I can manage at the moment, Sheila, but thank you," he replied, graciously. "I've been looking forward to this for almost a whole year, you know."

Mrs. Broflovski blushed and pressed a hand to her face, obviously charmed to the bone. Just her expression was enough to make Kyle feel nauseous.

"Oh, you're right! It has been almost a year, hasn't it?"

Mark's eyes slid over to Kyle, one sharp tooth catching the light as he continued to smile.

"Time sure does fly, doesn't it, Kyle?"

Fighting back gathering tremors, Kyle brought his mug of cider to his lips and managed to take a tremulous sip. He had to ignore the impulse to spit it out, never feeling less thirsty in his life. Somehow, he swallowed it down and nodded his head a little. Mark's eyes flashed for a moment, never leaving Kyle's face. Running a finger around the edge of his mug, Mark looked completely at ease and relaxed, his body language in stark contrast with Kyle's, who felt like he was going to pass out any moment. Mrs. Broflovski continued to bustle around the kitchen, none the wiser.

"Here, I'll pack some food for you two to take along," she said, plunking a container on the counter.

Kyle started, finally able to tear his eyes away from Mark's. He stared at his mother as she crammed treats into the bowl.

"What are you talking about?" He stammered. "Take along where?"

Mrs. Broflovski sighed, clearly exasperated with her clueless son. Shaking her head, she smiled softly at Mark.

"I don't know what's gotten into my son lately," she said, continuing to gather food. "He's been so forgetful the past few weeks. To think he wouldn't remember promising to work on college applications with you this weekend."

Kyle set down his mug with a clunk as his shaking hands gripped at the tables edge, his eyes darting back to Mark's face. Mark crossed his arms, one hand coming to rest against the side of his face as he looked indulgently at Kyle; that knowing smile still playing on his lips.

"It's okay, really. Like I said, I don't think Kyle realized I'd be dropping by tonight," he explained, his voice warmer than the cider in Kyle's mug. "I was going to go over the details with him during tutoring but I didn't see him there."

"What?" Mrs. Broflovski said, looking at her son; eyes narrowed. "Kyle, you didn't go to tutoring? Where were you all afternoon?"

"I, uh, was," Kyle looked down at the table, barely able to formulate words under the weight of his mother's accusatory eyes and Mark's deceptively warm curiosity. He kept gripping the table until his fingers started to ache, the wood practically cutting into them. Long seconds passed as his mother and Mark waited for him to speak. Finally, Mark cleared his throat, defusing the tension just a tad.

"Didn't you say you weren't feeling very well during last period, Kyle?"

Surprised, Kyle glanced up at him, eyes wide. Just what the fuck was he trying to pull right now?

"Is that true?" Mrs. Broflovski asked, coming toward Kyle while wiping her hands on a towel. Reaching out, she placed a hand on his forehead and frowned. "You don't feel warm or anything, bubelah. What's wrong?"

Once again, Kyle managed to pull his focus from Mark so he could look at his mom, trying desperately to send her signals that she was being duped, that he needed her help. More than anything, he just wanted to open his stupid mouth and tell her everything that had happened, so she could finally save him. Glancing at Mark again, he saw that fleeting reddish sheen pass over his eyes for just a second and then he was filled with unrelenting terror again. Lowering his gaze to the table, he could feel himself collapsing under all of the stress and tension building within himself.

"My stomach hurt," he murmured, wincing as gathering drops of sweat slid down his face. "So I skipped tutoring."

"Well, where did you go if you didn't come home?" His mother asked, tone sharpening.

Keeping his eyes on the table, Kyle could barely hear himself when he finally spoke, the only sound in the kitchen the ticking of a clock over the stove.

"To Stan's," he whispered.

"You went to Stan's house?" His mother asked, incredulously. "Isn't he grounded after being suspended for fighting?" She shuddered a little. "Mrs. Marsh told me all about it, Mark," she continued, turning toward Mark a little. "I can't believe he could just attack you like that, unprovoked. Really, I have no idea what's gotten into that boy."

Hearing his mother disparage Stan proved to be more than Kyle could bear, and suddenly he found the strength to speak up.

"You have no fucking idea what you're talking about!" He shouted, standing abruptly from his chair and almost knocking it over. "Stan was only -"

He stopped when he saw the look on Mark's face, all of the warmth gone and replaced with controlled, cold fury; his jaw set and eyes narrowed. He shook his head minutely, barely moving, but Kyle saw it; Christ, he could practically _feel_ it. Shutting his mouth tightly, Kyle clenched his fists at his sides, feeling like his lips were being sewn up with fishing line.

"How dare you use that tone of voice with me, and that language! This is absolutely disgraceful!" Mrs. Broflovski scolded him, arms akimbo and eyes snapping with anger. "I have half a mind to ground you for the entire weekend, young man; let you sit in your room and think about your actions!"

Kyle's head snapped up, raw joy surging through him at her words. Being grounded had never sounded better than it did in that moment. Ignoring Mark, he opened his mouth to say something else, something completely foul, when he heard a chair scraping back. Mark stood from his place and came around the table, stopping right behind Kyle and placing his hands on his shoulders. Kyle's mouth immediately went dry as his gaze slid downward, at those long, elegant fingers pressing into his skin, practically burning through his clothes. All at once, any words he might have had died on his tongue as he found himself closer to Mark than he'd been in months.

"Hey, calm down," Mark said, warm breath right next to Kyle's ear as he spoke in soothing tones. "It won't help getting all worked up if you aren't feeling well."

"I'm so sorry you had to see this, Mark," Mrs. Broflovski said, staring daggers at her son. "It would seem that when they were handing out obedience my son didn't exactly get his fair share."

Kyle winced when he felt Mark's fingers dig in just a little bit deeper, a soft laugh emanating from his lips.

"Obedience, now there's a dying art," Mark said, and Kyle could hear the smile in his voice; caustic bitterness on the undersides of his words.

Kyle shut his eyes at the hidden meaning of Mark's statement, and before he knew it, he was shaking again. Feeling reckless, he tried to speak up again.

"Mom, you don't understand. I really -"

She waved him away though, her face severe.

"I really don't want to stand here and argue with you in front a guest, Kyle. Now go upstairs and get packed before we both say something we'll regret." Turning, she continued to pack up food for the two of them. "Mark, were you still hungry? I could fix you up a bowl of my famous stew; Kyle just loves it." She shot him a look and then smiled at Mark.

"Oh, that's okay, Sheila," Mark replied, lifting one hand from Kyle's shoulder and waving it a little. "I think I'll just help Kyle get his stuff together. If that's alright, of course."

"Of course," she replied, glancing at him with inordinate amounts of reverence. "Go on up, you two. I'll just throw all this in a bag and set it next to the front door."

"Kyle, your mom's the best," Mark said, turning him toward the doorway. "How did you get to be so lucky?"

"Oh, you," Mrs. Broflovski gushed, waving them away.

******

Kyle couldn't decide if he was actually existing in reality as he stepped into his room with Mark close on his heels. He kept trying to wrack his brain for any explanation that would make this turn of events make sense, but nothing came. He winced when he heard the door close behind them, and as quickly as possible, he scurried to the other side of the room and turned to regard Mark, who just stood there and observed him; face impassive. After a moment, he smirked.

"That was pretty clever," he remarked, sliding one hand into the pocket of his black jacket. "Trying to piss your mom off so she'd ground you. You're always thinking, aren't you?"

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Kyle seethed, backing into the corner. "I don't want to go anywhere with you, Mark. You fucking know that."

Mark shrugged and looked around, breathing deeply.

"I always love the way it smells in here," he said, walking slowly around the room. "It's so soothing." He ran his hand over Kyle's desk, one finger drifting over his laptop. Glancing up, he raised his eyebrows at Kyle.

"Are you going to pack, or what?" He looked over at the dresser, where the cracked photo frame sat; his smirk deepened. Kyle followed him with his eyes as he went over to it and picked it up. "Isn't this is a nice little picture? Don't you think?"

"Put that down," Kyle said, voice hitching a little. "And get out. I'm not packing anything because I'm not going with you."

Mark complied, setting the picture frame down gently. He slid his eyes back to Kyle's face without turning his head, the red pulse appearing for a moment and then dissipating. After a moment, his gaze shifted to the bottom drawer of Kyle's dresser. Slowly, he reached out a foot and opened the drawer, Kyle's heartbeat increasing dramatically as every second passed and the horrible black collar came into focus.

"My, my, what do we have here?" He asked, kneeling down and picking up the strip of leather, its silver links glowing in the lamplight. He grinned at Kyle, who stared at the collar with deep hatred and fear. "We can't forget to bring this, can we?"

"I'm not -"

Mark stood up quickly and went to Kyle. Before he could react, Mark's arms shot out on either side of Kyle's head, pinning him against the wall and making it so he couldn't move. Leaning forward, he stared down at Kyle, strange eyes devouring him before he started to speak. Recoiling, Kyle practically shrank into himself from being trapped and so close to Mark, the smell of his cologne drifting under his nose and almost making him gag.

"You have such a nice family, Kyle," he murmured, warm, honeyed tones drifting from his lips. "Really, how can you be so selfish?"

"W-what are you talking about?" Kyle asked, pressing his back against the wall.

"I'm just saying, it would be awful if something happened to them because you couldn't do as you were told. You know what I mean?" Mark leaned forward a little closer, his handsome face mere inches from Kyle's.

"You aren't serious," Kyle whispered, eyes wide. "You can't possibly be threatening to -"

"After everything that's happened between us, are you really going to start doubting what I'm capable of at this stage of the game, Kyle? You aren't that stupid, are you?"

Bile rose in Kyle's throat and he swallowed it down, the acid burning him slightly. He shook his head.

"I just don't know why you can't leave me alone," he said. "I don't want to be with you, Mark. Why can't you accept that?"

Mark reached up and took hold of Kyle's chin, squeezing it tightly until Kyle nearly cried out. With every word he spoke, he shook Kyle's head from side to side; each word precise and punctuated.

"Because I'm not done with you yet. That's why," he replied. "Now, get your shit together before I lose my temper."

"N-no," Kyle sobbed, eking out his words through trembling lips while Mark continued to grip his face. "I'm n-not going a-anywhere with you, Mark. I-I'm done."

Mark just threw his head back and laughed. Leaning forward, he nuzzled against Kyle's cheek, making him cry out softly at the sudden contact.

"God, you're so fucking cute, Kyle. Never change, please," he murmured. Glancing over at the bed, a slow smile crawled across his lips. "Now I get it. You're stalling because you want to have a little fun together before we go. Kyle, you sly, kinky minx."

Unbridled fear and revulsion rose up in Kyle's brain at these words, his eyes following Mark's and settling on the unmade bed as well. Outright panic broke through him and he ducked under Mark's arms, making a break for the door. Quick as a thought, Mark appeared in front of him and blocked his path. Hardly believing his eyes, Kyle could barely stammer out words as he glanced from Mark to where he'd just been, almost feeling like he was going to break apart from insanity.

"How did you, what, how -"

Mark silenced him by kissing Kyle's lips lightly and pushing him up against the door, raw amusement blooming in his face. One hand came to rest on Kyle's hip, and he dug his fingers in. Kyle turned his face away, eyes shut tight as he felt Mark's breath raking down his throat.

"So sweet," he said, kissing Kyle's neck softly. "You're always so fucking sweet, Kyle. How do you manage it?"

A knock at the door made Kyle start violently, pitching forward and right into Mark's arms, where he held him tightly; his cheek brushing against Kyle's curls. A second knock sounded and Kyle glanced over his shoulder while simultaneously trying to push himself away from Mark to no avail.

"Shouldn't you ask who it is?" Mark whispered in Kyle's ear.

"W-who's there?" Kyle choked out, gritting his teeth at the feeling of Mark's fingers winding through his hair.

"Kyle? It's me," Ike called out. "Can I come in?"

Kyle's eyes shot wide open at his little brother's voice, hardly knowing how to proceed. There was no way Kyle wanted to drag Ike into this mess. Suddenly, Mark's threats from before took on new, sinister life as he listened to Ike's innocent, little voice on the other side of the door.

"Aren't you going to let him in, Kyle?" Mark asked, fingers still winding through his curls. "Here's your chance to see what happens if you don't listen."

Mark reached into his pocket and pulled out a switchblade. Kyle almost screamed when he snapped it open, the wicked blade silver and burning under the overhead lights.

"Don't, please," Kyle said, looking at the knife with desperate fear. Lowering his head, he choked back a sob. "I'll go, just don't hurt anyone, okay?"

"Mm, that's better," Mark said, kissing Kyle's cheek. "Now go and answer the door, baby. You're being rude making him wait like this."

Wiping away the tears coursing down his cheeks, Kyle went to the door almost feeling like he was sleepwalking. Opening it, he peered out into the hallway to see Ike's worried face gazing back at him. Cocking an eyebrow, he looked over Kyle's shoulder and into his room.

"Kyle, are you okay?" He asked. "I thought I heard you crying or something."

"I-I'm okay, Ike," Kyle lied, trying to smile. "I'm just not feeling very well, I guess."

"Who's in there with you?"

"Hey, kiddo," Mark said, cheerfully, coming up behind Kyle and laying a hand on the back of his neck. "What's up?"

Ike narrowed his eyes as he looked at Mark, his whole demeanor radiating distrust and suspicion. Flicking his gaze back to Kyle, he stepped forward slightly.

"Kyle, are you sure you're okay? I can get mom if you want."

Kyle shook his head, grimacing a little as Mark's fingers tightened on his nape. Shuddering, he could feel the cold blade of Mark's knife resting against the skin of his back and pressing softly.

"I'm fine, Ike. I promise." A sudden thought occurred to Kyle as he looked into Ike's chocolate brown eyes, and impetuously he leaned forward and whispered something in his ear. Drawing back, he nodded his head slightly. "Don't forget, okay? Can you do that for me?"

Ike stared at him, confused.

"I'll remember, but Kyle, why? I don't -"

"Want to let me in on the secret too, Kyle?" Mark asked, pressing the knife in a little harder. "I feel left out over here."

Stepping back, Kyle kept looking into Ike's eyes, praying that he would understand what he'd told him in time. Ike watched him, his gaze solemn as he frowned.

"I won't forget," he said, shooting a dirty look at Mark. "Promise."

"Great, thanks," Kyle said, retreating into his room as he slowly began to close the door. Before he could, Ike pressed his hand against it, stopping him.

"Kyle, something doesn't feel right. Please -"

"Ike," Kyle pleaded, wincing as the knife began to dig in; errant drops of blood starting to fall. "Just go, okay? I'm fine."

Fighting back sobs, Kyle slowly closed the door in Ike's face, wanting nothing more than to grab him and hold on for dear life. Hot tears slid down his face as he rested his hand against the door, wishing he could yank it open and run downstairs to freedom and warmth. Instead, he felt Mark's hand on his shoulder, squeezing softly. Thankfully, he'd taken the knife away so it was no longer pressing into the tender skin of his back.

"It's time to go, Kyle," he said, softly. "Come on, I'll help you pack."

******

Kyle shivered as he huddled against the door, even though the interior of Mark's car was warm and filled with the scent of vanilla. Pressing himself against the cold window, Kyle gazed out at the snow-covered world, little crystal flakes swirling down and resting on the pavement in velvety piles. Everything was hushed and still as they crawled through the night-darkened streets, the horned moon glowing through gossamer clouds on occasion. Mark started speaking suddenly, almost making Kyle flinch and hug his arms tightly around himself.

"I bought this one because you said you liked vanilla. Remember?" He reached up and flicked at the air freshener, making it swing back and forth. "Do you like it?"

Kyle didn't say anything, opting instead to turn back to the window and stare out at the cold sky, at the quiet houses rushing by. All of a sudden, he felt Mark's hand squeezing his thigh softly.

"Hey, I'm talking to you," he said. "I expect an answer, Kyle."

"Or what?" Kyle snapped, finally looking at him. "Are you going to kill my family if I don't fucking talk to you? Huh?"

Mark rolled his eyes, his hand still resting gently on Kyle's leg. He eased the car into a careful stop as they came to a red light. Clearly exasperated, he glanced over at Kyle, his handsome face illuminated by the lights on the car's dashboard.

"Quit being melodramatic, Kyle. I'm not going to kill your family. Where would you even get that idea?"

Kyle rounded on him, infuriated and terrified by how quickly Mark could shift gears. It had been an ongoing issue between them for as long as Kyle could remember. Mark always dominated every conversation, making it shift and change as he saw fit, and he was fucking sick of it.

"You fucking said that you'd kill my family if -"

"Calm down, Kyle," Mark interrupted, holding up a hand. "Becoming hysterical is not going to help this situation, nor is lying, might I add."

"Lying?! I'm not lying, you dirty -"

"Uh uh uh, no name calling either. Let's keep this on an adult, civil level, shall we?"

This was the straw that broke the camel's back, and Kyle could suddenly feel himself coming unglued as weeks, no, months of terror and weariness and anger converged on him at once.

"What the FUCK have you ever known about civility, Mark?! I really fucking want to know!" Kyle screamed, little flecks of saliva flying from his mouth as he unloaded his fury. "You've fucking gone out of your way to ruin my entire goddamn life, and now you want to talk about being fucking civil?! Are you fucking out of your goddamn mind?!"

Mark was slowly maneuvering the car up the winding path to his house, the lone sleeping dragon waiting in the darkness, so he didn't immediately reply. When they finally came to a stop in the circular drive, he put the car in park and shut it off. Only then did he turn to Kyle and cock an eyebrow, studying him.

"I can't even talk to you when you're like this," he said, brushing some hair out of his eyes. "Oh, before I forget." He held out his hand expectantly.

Kyle just stared at him, still shaking from his explosion and crouched against the door, arms crossed. He looked at Mark's hand like it was radioactive. After a few moments, he finally broke the silence.

"What? What do you want from me?"

Mark sighed and looked at Kyle with fond eyes laced with exasperation.

"Your phone, please." He flexed his fingers back and forth, waiting.

The crazy desire to reach out and bite the shit out of Mark's hand flitted across Kyle's mind but he fought it away. Instead, he stubbornly continued to hug himself, making no move to relinquish his phone.

"Kyle," Mark said, that telltale edge creeping into his tone and making perspiration gather on Kyle's forehead.

"No," Kyle whispered. "I'm already here against my will, Mark. I'm not giving up my phone too."

"It's not like you'll need it," Mark said, his tone becoming slightly coaxing. "I promise I'll keep you too busy to even think about it."

"How? By fucking terrorizing me?" Kyle yelled.

"Maybe," Mark snapped, seemingly coming to the end of his tether. His hand suddenly shot out and snaked into Kyle's front pocket, where he had a habit of carrying his phone. Quickly, he yanked the phone out and held it up for Kyle to see. "There, was that so hard?"

"Hey! Give it back to me or I swear to God I'll -"

"You'll fucking _what?"_ Mark parried, tucking the phone into his breast pocket. "Huh, Kyle? What are you going to do? You don't have any fucking leeway here and you know it, so stop fucking barking in the dark."

"Just because I'm at a disadvantage doesn't mean I have to roll over and let you fucking do whatever you want without a fight!"

All at once, Kyle was suddenly gasping for breath as he felt Mark's hand tightening on his throat and pushing his head back against the chilled car window. Frantically, he tried to free himself, but Mark's fingers almost felt unnaturally strong as he held Kyle in place, his skull pressed into the glass.

"You fucking sold me out to Damien, you little shit," Mark seethed, drawing him forward so he could smash him back against the window, making Kyle see stars for a moment. "You literally gave me to a demon to save your own ass. I can fucking do whatever I want with you. Do you understand?"

Kyle tried to reply but he could barely manage to squeeze words through his constricted throat, a tiny whine the only sound breaking through. He could feel his eyes bugging out as Mark's hand tightened, his head connecting with the window again and filling his senses with dull pain.

"In fact, you're fucking lucky I haven't just killed you," Mark spat, shaking him and breathing heavily. The windows were starting to fog up from the heat and breath spilling into the car, the steam blotting out the night sky and the continuously falling snow. "I wanted to, Kyle, I'm not going to lie, but I still love you. Can you fucking believe that? You fucked me over royally and I still love you so much I can barely stand it."

A tap at the window made it so Mark finally loosened the stranglehold he had on Kyle, throwing him roughly against the seat and Kyle clutching at his throat; gasping for air. Sweet, delicious air rushed into his lungs as he huddled in the seat, throat already aching terribly and his head pounding from being banged against the window. He looked at Mark with abject fear, but he was already straightening his coat and hair, his face completely composed. Opening the door, he glanced out to see who had tapped at the window as they were still too fogged to really see anything.

"Mark, honey, I was just wondering if you could help your sister and I carry our bags to the car," Dr. Cotswolds voice broke through the quiet and straight into Kyle's ears, his gasps subsiding somewhat. After a moment, she peered into the car and smiled when she saw Kyle.

"Why, Kyle! I feel like I haven't seen you in a month of Sundays, dear. How have you been?"

Kyle glanced at Mark who was watching him closely, a tiny smirk on his lips. Coughing a little, he managed to push some words through his swollen throat.

"I've been okay, Dr. Cotswolds; thank you for asking."

Dr. Cotswolds reached out and tweaked a lock of Mark's hair, grinning playfully.

"See how polite Kyle always is? You should take a lesson, son."

"Spare me," Mark said, rolling his eyes. "Where are your bags? I'll get them now."

"Oh, right. Come on," she replied, straightening up and walking away, her high heels clacking against the pavement.

Mark turned to Kyle and arched a brow.

"Do you feel pulled together enough to come into the house, or do you need a moment?"

 _I need you to fuck off and die,_ Kyle thought, but he kept his face placid as he regarded Mark with wide eyes.

"Here, I'll get your door, just to prove that I can be as polite as you are," Mark smirked. "Hold on."

Kyle continued to tremble and ignore the pain already registering in his body as he waited for Mark to open his door. He knew it was foolish, but he had the sudden desire to just lock the door and confine himself in the car but what was that going to accomplish? Once again, Mark always fucking got what he wanted. Stroking his throat, Kyle couldn't even fathom what Mark had in store for him if being strangled in the car was just a precursor of what was to come. The door swung open and Mark stood there waiting for him, the snow resting on the shoulders of his black coat and nestling in his hair.

"Well?" He asked, reaching out a hand.

Gritting his teeth, Kyle ignored it and stood of his own accord, nearly slipping on the gathering slush and grabbing at Mark anyway.

"That's what you get for being difficult," Mark said, laughing and holding onto Kyle tightly. He dropped a kiss on Kyle's burning cheek. "Come on, goose; let's go in before you catch your death out here."

Kyle could've vomited at the feeling of having Mark's hand pressing into the small of his back and leading him back into Hell, but it couldn't be helped. Within moments, they were back in the belly of the beast and Kyle was standing in the kitchen while Mark carried his mother and Rebecca's parcels to the car. He was contemplating just escaping through the backdoor when all three of them returned, Dr. Cotswolds and Rebecca bundled in their winter gear and looking fresh faced with excitement.

"I hope you two will be alright fending for yourselves this weekend," Dr. Cotswolds commented, sliding her purse strap onto her shoulder. "Ordinarily I wouldn't feel comfortable leaving for three days but Rebecca and I have been wanting to have a girls' weekend for so long."

Rebecca, who'd remained silent while studying Kyle with guarded eyes suddenly nodded, smiling slightly.

"I've really been looking forward to it, mom," she said, pretty face flushing as she pulled her white, fluffy hat over her curls. "It's been a rough couple of months," she added, glancing at Mark who only smirked.

Kyle could feel himself blanching at this bit of information and he pleaded with his eyes while trying to appeal to Rebecca. She just looked down at the floor, and he couldn't be sure but he thought he saw fleeting remorse registering in her eyes. Staring daggers at Mark, it all suddenly made more sense. No wonder he had waited so long to make a move. Not only had Mark been steadily wearing him down for weeks, he'd been biding his time until he had the house free for awhile to really put his plans into action; that sneaky son of a bitch. Glancing at Rebecca again, Kyle just couldn't understand how she could've changed so drastically. Hadn't they been on the same page over the summer?

"Well, we better get on the road before the weather gets too nasty," Dr. Cotswolds said, starting toward the door. Stopping, she looked back at Mark, a concerned expression on her face. "Are you sure you two will be okay?"

Mark rolled his eyes and put an arm around Kyle, pulling him close.

"Stop acting like two guys on their own are completely helpless, mom. Give us a little more credit, okay?"

Kyle dropped his eyes to the floor, wanting desperately to run to Mark's mother and beg for her help. Once again, though, fear stole his words, not just from the things Mark could do to him, but the information he could use against him. Gritting his teeth, he clenched his hands into shaking fists.

"I always give you plenty of credit, son," Dr. Cotswolds replied, wryly. "Maybe that's part of the problem." Sighing, she offered her arm to Rebecca. "Shall we?"

"Let's," Rebecca smiled, turning away as well. She threw one last fleeting look over her shoulder at Kyle, her hazel eyes taking on a detached, cold remoteness that completely floored him. Gone was her usual warmth, instead replaced by something almost sinister in its dismissal of his agony.

"What did you do to her?" Kyle whispered into the stillness, long after the front door had shut and the sound of a car pulling off died away. "She's different."

"More than you think," Mark replied, going to the fridge and pulling something out. Placing a pink box on the counter, he smiled. "I put Rebecca in her place, Kyle; where she belongs." He opened a drawer and drew out a silver cake knife.

"What are you talking about?" Kyle asked, watching the knife with growing fear.

Mark flipped the box open to reveal a gorgeous white cake, its surface studded with candied fruit and fancy swirls of icing. The word 'congratulations' was emblazoned across the top in fancy script. Mark dragged a finger through a tuft of frosting and brought it to his lips, closing his eyes with pleasure at the taste.

"I love their frosting recipe," he remarked, smiling at Kyle. "It isn't dense like the crap they slather on cakes at the grocery store." Setting the knife aside, he went to the cabinet and pulled out two delicate teacups. After a moment, he reached into another cabinet and pulled out a matching teapot.

"You like Earl Grey, right?" He asked, pulling another box from the pantry.

Kyle could only stare at him as he moved around the kitchen, readying things and putting water onto boil after dropping a few teabags into the pot. It always amazed him that Mark could seemingly block out things he didn't want to hear and see, choosing instead to focus on the things that appealed to him. He knew he was doing this now, but he wasn't just going to let this insanity go.

"Mark, I asked you a question," Kyle said, his eyes drifting to the cake knife again; sitting innocently on the counter. "What did you do to Rebecca?"

"Ah, there we go," Mark said, pulling the kettle from the stove after it started to whistle. Clouds of steam wafted upward as he poured the water into the waiting teapot and after a moment the fragrant scent of tea filled the kitchen. "Isn't that nice?" He grinned at Kyle.

"Mark, please. I -"

"Becky got what she deserved, just like you will," Mark interrupted, plunking the lid on the teapot. Pulling a tray from under the counter, he placed it on the table and then set the teapot and cups on it, along with sugar and a pitcher of milk. Gesturing to the cake box, he looked at Kyle expectantly. "Can you grab the cake and the knife? I think I can manage the rest on my own."

Kyle was still reeling from Mark's statement but somehow he managed to comply. Feeling almost robotic, he hefted the cake box and knife into his trembling hands and followed after Mark, who shot him a look of warning before proceeding into the living room.

"Don't get any stupid ideas with that knife, by the way. You won't like the outcome, I promise." Smiling, he turned and started down the hallway. "Come on, I told Janice to build a fire in here before she left for the day, so it'll be nice and cozy."

Gulping, Kyle followed behind him meekly, terrified that he could somehow see into his thoughts and realize he was still vividly imagining stabbing him to death with the silver knife, clenched in his fist. He wasn't surprised that Mark would call him out on something like that, and it spoke to his cocky nature that he would even trust Kyle with the knife in the first place. Mark was clearly firmly convinced that he had the upper hand and Kyle hated to admit that he did, just like always. He carefully set the cake and knife down on the coffee table when they entered the living room, his eyes drifting to the merry, crackling fire glowing on the hearth.

"I just love evenings like this, don't you?" Mark asked, settling on the sofa and leaning forward to pick up the teapot. He patted the place beside him. "Sit," he instructed.

Wordlessly, Kyle sat, feeling stiff and unbelievably uncomfortable.

"Take off your coat," Mark said, pouring tea into a cup. "You don't need it. Did you want milk and sugar? I can never remember how you like your tea, sorry." He grinned sheepishly.

Kyle just rolled his eyes and slid his coat off, laying it aside.

"Milk and sugar are fine," he said, softly. Watching Mark prepare his drink, Kyle couldn't help but feel he was attending a tea party in the seventh layer of Hell.

"I love that shirt on you," Mark commented, reaching out and fingering the thin material for a moment. "I like how it's almost see-through because it's so thin. It doesn't leave a lot to the imagination. Here." He handed Kyle his cup, then went about fixing his own.

"What did you mean when you said Rebecca got what she deserved?" Kyle asked, peering into his cup and terrified to take a drink. He'd seen Mark prepare it from start to finish but he still had no reason to trust anything he gave him.

Mark added a little milk to his tea and sat back, blowing on it lightly. He glanced at Kyle.

"I had to make a difficult decision, Kyle, but I saw the necessity," he explained, calmly. "Damien doesn't bargain in the traditional sense, after all. He dabbles in blood and agony. But you already know that, don't you?"

Quickly, Kyle set his cup down because his hand was shaking so hard. He stared at Mark, who appeared almost demonic in the red glow of the fire. Vague understanding was worming its way through his brain, but he didn't want to accept it; it was just too cruel.

"Mark, how does Damien factor into this? You didn't, you couldn't..." he trailed off, staring at him; chestnut highlights burning in the firelight.

Mark took a long sip of tea and swallowed with satisfaction, smacking his lips.

"Sometimes sacrifices have to be made," he said. He cut his eyes to Kyle, narrowing them a little. "Isn't that exactly what you two did to me?"

Kyle had to press his hand against his mouth as the bile splashed upward from his stomach again. More than ever, he was convinced that the depths of Mark's depravity were boundless.

"How could you?" He gasped. "You...you gave your own sister, your twin, to Damien? To the fucking antichrist?"

Mark nodded, setting his cup down as well. Gracefully, he slid the cake box toward himself and picked up the knife, which flashed ruby red against the jumping flames. Carefully, he started cutting into the pretty white cake.

"I wouldn't worry about it, Kyle," he said, angling the knife and cutting again; creating a nice-sized wedge of the confection. "She's no worse for wear." He laughed a little as he lifted the piece of cake and set it on a plate. Licking his thumb, he handed the plate to Kyle. "I mean, we've all been with Damien at this point, and we're all just fine. Aren't we?"

"You're completely insane," Kyle whispered, accepting the plate with increasingly shaky hands. "You must realize that."

"Oh, let's not go down this road again, Kyle," Mark replied, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "It's so tired and overdone at this point. We just look at the world in completely different ways. There's nothing wrong with that. Live and let live, and all that. Right?" Appearing very happy, he gestured to the cake. "I should've said something before I cut into it, but didn't you notice what it said?"

"C-congratulations," Kyle said, faintly. "Yes, I saw it."

"Do you know what we're celebrating?" Mark asked, brightly. He'd begun cutting another wedge of cake as he waited for Kyle's answer.

"I have no fucking clue, Mark," Kyle answered, honestly. "I really don't feel like there's anything worth celebrating at this point."

Mark pouted a little, sliding another piece of cake onto his own plate. He set the knife down and picked up a fork, stabbing a spongy piece of the dessert.

"Quit being such a dog in the manger, Kyle," he said, popping the cake into his mouth. "Not when we're celebrating our anniversary."

By this point Kyle was beginning to feel like he was being saturated with relentless surrealism, so he could only respond dully as Mark ate his cake.

"Our anniversary," he said.

"Right, it was around this time last year that we hung out for the very first time," Mark said, cheerfully. "Remember? We got high and made pancakes, and then we went for a swim. It's crazy to think that we're already getting our first snowfall when last year it was totally clear."

"How could I forget?" Kyle asked, cutting off a smidgen of cake and leaving it to languish on the tines of his fork. "That was also the night you drugged me for the first time." He laughed but it reeked of bitterness. "I had the honor of seeing it for myself. Damien showed me."

Mark laughed too, shaking his head.

"That fucking asshole," he said, setting his empty cake plate down. "He would do something like that, wouldn't he?"

"I don't understand why he's helping you," Kyle murmured, staring at the fluffy cake on his fork. He had no intention of eating it, of course. He had absolutely no appetite. "He seemed pretty excited about having you back." Wincing, he glanced at Mark, hating the callous sound of the words; of what he had been a party to.

"Even demons can be manipulated if you know what strings to pull," Mark said, his eyes becoming cold again. "Damien isn't nearly as smart as he likes to think he is."

"No, you've got us all fooled, don't you?" Kyle sighed, finally setting the cake aside.

Mark was silent for a moment, ruminating. Sitting back, he crossed his long legs.

"I don't know, you were pretty clever about fishing the information about Damien out of Becky and then making a deal with him. I have to give you credit for that," he said. Reaching over, he rested a hand on Kyle's thigh. "You were pretty ruthless, Kyle. That' actually pretty sexy, all things considered. I didn't know you had it in you."

"Neither did I, but it didn't feel right."

"Yes, that's why you changed your mind. Your conscience got the better of you, didn't it? Pesky little fucker." He snorted. "You need to learn when to listen to it, Kyle; it isn't always right."

"Do you ever listen to yours?" Kyle countered, wishing more than anything that he could pull himself away from Mark's busy hand.

"When it suits me," Mark shrugged. He glanced at Kyle's cake and unfinished tea. "Aren't you hungry, love?"

"No, and don't fucking call me that," Kyle snapped, finally mustering up the gumption and tearing his leg from Mark's grasp.

Mark chuckled while running his hands through his hair.

"That's fine, you don't have to eat right now if you don't want to. Besides, it isn't like we don't have other business to attend to." He stood and stretched his hands towards the ceiling, sighing as little pops could be heard from his lengthening spine. Righting himself, he glanced at Kyle, his expression tender.

"Are you ready?"

Pressing himself toward the end of the couch, Kyle looked at him with growing fear and suspicion.

"Ready for what?"

Mark lifted his face and sniffed the air, grimacing slightly. Settling his eyes on Kyle again, he cocked an eyebrow.

"You've been with Stan," he announced, simply. "I can smell him all over you and I can't stand it. We'll need to take care of that, won't we?"

Kyle stood and started backing away, his fear intensifying at Mark's demeanor and words.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Like a stalking panther, Mark started walking slowly towards him, his slim body appearing unbreakable as the firelight washed over his dark clothing. Sinister shadows muddled his features as he approached Kyle, who had managed to back himself into the wall where he waited, flesh and bones quivering.

"We're going to purify the desecrated field, Kyle," he smiled, taking a hold of his arm. "Come along."

******

Kyle had to choke back his screams as the blinding hot water splashed over his reddened, aching flesh. After Mark had stripped him of his clothing and commanded him to get into the water, he had balked, fearful of the intense heat pouring out of the bath. He'd tried to run, but Mark had caught him easily, moving unbelievably fast even from Kyle's fear-riddled state.

"You'll be fine, baby," he'd cooed, holding Kyle tightly as he'd guided him into the steaming water. "This is for your own good."

Kyle had sunk into the water inch by agonizing inch, almost feeling like his skin was going to melt off from the unbearable heat. He'd been sweating bullets, biting at his lips as the water burned him, until finally he'd come to rest on the bottom of the tub, his entire body screaming out for mercy. Now he was obediently sitting still as Mark scrubbed him down, the rough washcloth buffing his skin until he thought it would be worn completely away.

"This is necessary, Kyle," Mark said, pouring more soap on the cloth. "You've been with him so many times, I can tell. We have to make you clean again."

Kyle hung his head as Mark dragged the washcloth over his rigid back, fighting back tears of shame and pain. Thoughts of Stan floated through his mind, of their last time together, of being in his arms and kissed until he was breathless. More than anything he wanted to be back with him, and he could've kicked himself for not taking him up on his offer and just staying the night. Crying out, he could feel Mark pulling one of his curls roughly.

"You were zoning out there," he chastised. "What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing," Kyle said, trembling as Mark continued to wash him. "I'm just finding it hard to concentrate because the water is so hot, Mark." He whimpered a little as Mark instructed him to stand, his shaky legs barely holding him up. Yelping, he shied away when Mark started washing his private areas.

"That hurts," Kyle said, wincing at the feeling of Mark's fingertips sinking into the scalded skin on his thighs. "Please, stop!"

"I'll stop when I'm satisfied," Mark replied, tone sharp. "This is your own damn fault, Kyle. We'd come so far before you decided to fuck things up, and now we're back at fucking square one."

"I want to go home," Kyle sobbed, coming to the end of his endurance as the hot water began overwhelming him; coupled with Mark's rough hands scraping his skin off with the cloth. "Please, just let me go home!"

"You are home," Mark said, kissing his thigh. Dropping the washcloth, he gazed up at Kyle and smiled. "I think you're fine for now. Are you ready to get out?"

Kyle nodded weakly, almost glad when Mark wrapped a soft towel around his spent body and lifted him from the tub, holding him close to his himself. Feeling dazed, he couldn't help but rest his head against Mark's chest as he carried him into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, cradling him a little.

"God, I've missed you so much," Mark whispered, pressing him closer against himself; so close that Kyle could hear his calm heartbeat. His strong hands gripped Kyle's hot flesh through the towel as he laid kisses along Kyle's sweating forehead. "So, so much," he continued. In a moment, his lips found Kyle's and he was kissing him deeply. Complete exhaustion was drenching Kyle by this point, and he didn't have the strength to turn his head away.

Mark finally drew back and smiled softly, glancing around the darkened room; the only illumination coming from a tiny nightlight on his bedside table. The corner that once held the blue-green fish tank was empty, and Kyle's eyes lingered there for just a moment before his gaze slid toward the balcony windows. Snow was continuing to fall like tiny glass shards, skittering against the windowpanes and scratching like a million little talons. The eerie glow from fledgling moonlight and snowfall fell into the room and iced the floor and Mark's dark hair, plunging his features into soft shadow though Kyle could still make out his smiling mouth.

"We'll be okay again, Kyle," he said, cradling him closer and rocking him a little. "Just as long as we're together, everything will be okay. Don't you think?"

"Mark," Kyle managed to say, even though fatigue and pain were working against him. He reached a trembling hand up and grasped at Mark's shirt. "I don't feel good," he eked out, hating his weakness and the tremble in his voice. He couldn't help it though; his entire body and mind had been plunged into agony.

"Poor baby," Mark said, cuddling him close. "I hate seeing you hurt, you know that. I'm just trying to take care of you." He sighed a little and set Kyle on the bed. Standing, he knelt in front of him and continued to dry him off, taking care to be gentle with Kyle's sensitive skin. He clucked his tongue slightly.

"You've gotten so skinny," he commented, hands lingering on Kyle's delicate hips. "Have you been eating at all?"

Kyle shook his head, feeling a tear coursing down his cheek as he looked into Mark's eyes.

"I don't want to," he said.

"Well, we'll have to see to that," Mark decided, drawing back and taking the towel with him. He studied Kyle for a few more seconds before turning away. Depositing the towel on a chair, he rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a long white shirt. Coming back, he gathered it and then started putting it on Kyle.

"Usually I'd want you to sleep naked, but I don't think we'll do anything tonight," he explained, helping Kyle pull his arms through the sleeves. "It's taking everything in me to hold back, but I think you need a little time to rest. Don't you?"

Kyle dropped his gaze downward, staring at his trembling hands. What could he possibly say to something like that? Mark was all but telling him that he was granting him a reprieve from being assaulted. Was he supposed to be grateful? Weariness continued to drag him down, making his eyelids feel heavy. All of the aches from the entire night seemed to be converging on him at once; the throb in his throat and head, the burn settling in his flesh. Suddenly, everything was too much and he was pressing his hands to his eyes, sobs escaping from his mouth.

"There, there, let's have none of that," Mark soothed him, running a gentle hand through his moistened curls. "Here, maybe this'll make you feel better; I got you a present."

Kyle spread his fingers a little at these words, watching as Mark picked something up from his dresser and brought it over. Moonlight fell over the curved surface of a beautiful snow globe containing picture-perfect replications of tiny pine trees and a charming little cabin, the windows a lovely bright yellow; indicating warmth and light inside. He held it out to Kyle who took it, completely at a loss as to what he should say.

"I know it's silly, considering we live in the fucking mountains and we see snow all the time, but for whatever reason it made me think of you," Mark said, stroking the globe with his fingertip. "I guess it made me feel warm when I looked at it, and that's how I feel when I'm with you, so," he shrugged. "Do you like it?"

Feeling awkward, Kyle brushed some tears from his cheeks and stared at the globe, admiring its craftsmanship and beauty while secretly appalled that it was being presented to him by Mark of all people. Tipping it slightly, he couldn't help but smile when the little flecks of snow swirled around the trees and the cabin, and somehow he could see why Mark would associate the little scene with warmth.

"It's beautiful," he said. "I love it."

"I was hoping you would," Mark said, sounding genuinely happy and pleased at Kyle's reaction. "So, now that I've given you something you actually like, can you do something for me?"

Kyle held the snow globe in both of his hands now, pulling it close to himself as he regarded Mark with careful, tired eyes. Slowly, he nodded, knowing he wouldn't have a choice anyway. Mark grinned and sat beside him, reaching into his pocket. All at once, he was drawing out the collar and holding it up so Kyle could see it.

"Put this on for me, okay?" He asked. "It would make me so happy to see you wear it again. It'd be like we were really getting back to normal."

Kyle could've laughed at the misuse of the word "normal" in the context of his situation, but all he could do was gaze down at the globe resting in his lap, desperately wishing he could be in that lovely little scene rather than where he was.

"Kyle?" Mark asked, shaking the collar a little.

Slowly, Kyle lowered his head, offering silent agreement as he capitulated. The tears started falling again as he felt the awful leather being wound around his throat, and a sob escaped his lips when Mark tightened it, his fingers stroking its smooth surface.

"There," he murmured, kissing Kyle's cheek. "Now you're perfect. Are you ready to go to bed?"

All Kyle could do was continue tipping the snow globe so he could watch the snow floating over the idyllic scene, wishing himself far, far away but knowing that wasn't a possibility. After a moment, Mark reached out and gently took it from him, stroking his cheek softly. Taking Kyle's hand, he helped him rise from the bed and led him around it, to the side where he'd slept in the past; so long ago now. Delicately, he set the globe on the bedside table and tapped it a little.

"Now it'll be the first thing you see when you wake up in the morning," he said, lifting the blankets and motioning with his hand for Kyle to climb in. "Get some sleep, baby. I know for a fact you haven't been sleeping well." With loving care, he tucked the blankets around Kyle and kissed his forehead, his thumb drifting over his bottom lip for a moment as he gazed down at him.

"How do you know that?" Kyle asked, already feeling himself fading toward sleep as the night's pains and terrors washed over him. He sagged into the mattress and reveled in the down comforter enveloping him. A sudden thought came to him then, pulling him back. "And how did you manage to leave the collar in my room? I asked my family, they said you never stopped by."

Mark just smiled and smoothed away some curls from Kyle's forehead.

"I'll explain everything eventually, Kyle. For now, you need to go to sleep."

"But, I -"

"Shhh," Mark said, laying a finger on Kyle's lips. "Everything in its own time, love. I'll answer all of your questions tomorrow. Now, close your eyes; I'll be here when you wake up. I promise."


	47. Final Trial: Kyle/Mark's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: RAPE! SATANIC ELEMENTS! VIOLENCE! Basically everything, okay? Read at your own discretion, please.
> 
> This chapter was a little more difficult for me, I'm afraid. I can't really say why, although most of it was very fun to write bc I have a preoccupation with horrible, skeevy, unsettling subject matter. (That much should be obvious at this point, don't you think?) It just took me forever to write this bc...I don't know, honestly. I hope everyone enjoys it, of course. This chapter is pretty much depravity from beginning to end but things will get better for Kyle eventually, I promise. It just isn't going to happen this time around, lol.
> 
> xD Read in good health, friends. <3
> 
> PS: I also have a recommendation for anyone who's interested in manga/anime, whatever. It's called 'Killing Stalking' and it's a Korean manhwa that is seriously so fucking good I can barely comprehend its majesty. I'm only throwing it out there bc it's in the same vein as this story (obsessive/toxic/unhealthy relationships and violence, etc.). Read at your own discretion, though; it contains disturbing themes/subject matter but it's so f'ing good, you guys. Just saying. You can read it in its entirety here: https://www.lezhin.com/en/comic/killingstalking
> 
> It's ongoing but I couldn't recommend it more. If you happen to give it a try, I'd love to know what other people think. :D

His eyes slid open and the first thing he saw was the little picturesque scene, a tiny cabin and dark green pine trees. The white morning sun was glowing on the surface of the globe, catching the sparkle in the drifts of snow settled at the base of the miniatures within. For a moment, Kyle felt serene looking at the contents of the snow globe but then he remembered who had given it to him, and where he was. Vague fury registered in him as thoughts of the previous night flooded his mind, and how Mark had said that the globe would be the first thing he saw when he woke up. How the fuck could he have known that, and why did it have to turn out to be true?

Kyle gazed at the snow globe for a few moments before the pains in his body started to come to life, his head and throat throbbing and his skin feeling raw and sensitive. Biting back a groan, he rolled onto his back and dared to slide his eyes toward Mark, who hadn't stirred or made a sound since Kyle had awoken. The snow was still falling heavily beyond the windows, and even from his vantage point Kyle could see that the clouds were heavy and grey; faint shafts of strong, white sunlight breaking through the frail curtains. They had been calling for snowfall that weekend but they hadn't said it would be so much, at least not that early in the year. Sighing, Kyle watched the fat flakes drift by and obscure everything, essentially helping to trap him in Mark's castle of horrors.

"How did you sleep?" A soft voice drifted through the chilled air, startling him.

Kyle pulled his focus from the snow and glanced over to see Mark watching him, his dark eyes still slightly heavy with sleep and a ghost of a smile on his lips. He way lying on his side with his hand cradled under his face, gazing placidly at Kyle. Tired apprehension flowed into Kyle's bloodstream as he wrapped his mind around the fact that he was waking up next to Mark after so long, and under such awful circumstances. Another thought struck him then, surprising him.

"I slept fine," he murmured, taken aback at this development. He hadn't had a decent night's sleep in ages, but the nightmares hadn't visited him during his slumber. No, he'd slept like a baby, cradled in Mark's giant bed and down comforter; his earthy scent surrounding him.

"You look refreshed," Mark commented, grinning and drawing closer. "I knew you'd sleep better once you were back with me." Under the covers, Mark's arm reached around Kyle and pulled him over, his fingers pressing through Kyle's shirt and resting on the slope of his back. All at once, Mark's lips were settling on Kyle's throat and he was kissing along the curve of his neck.

Still feeling weak from the previous night's trials, Kyle tried his best to resist, pushing against Mark's chest with his hands.

"Stop," he said, his voice coming out croaky from being strangled; a slight burn present in the swollen tissues. "I don't want this, Mark. I don't want any of this."

"You're so warm," Mark replied, continuing to nuzzle and kiss him. His fingers dug in a little deeper on Kyle's back, his other hand drifting to Kyle's wrist and locking around it. "I always love the way you smell in the morning, Kyle; it's so comforting." Lifting his head, he looked down into Kyle's face. "I've missed this so much, you know? Waking up together and slowly coming to life."

"Didn't you hear anything I said?" Kyle asked, wincing at the pressure Mark was applying to his burning skin. "I told you -"

Mark kissed him into silence, his soft lips coming to rest on Kyle's. With another gentle, little squeeze he sat up and stretched his arms toward the ceiling.

"What do you want for breakfast? I'll make you anything you want."

Kyle sat up slowly, his whole body begging him to stay still and heal for a little while. Clutching the sheet to his chest he just stared at Mark, who was once again dominating and controlling the conversation; hellbent on only hearing the things he wanted to hear.

"I'm not hungry," he said. "I want to go home."

"Home is wherever you want it to be," Mark replied, rolling out of bed and pulling a hoody on over his t-shirt; legs clad in plaid pajama pants. "For example, my home is with you, Kyle. We could be in a fucking cardboard box and it'd still feel like home as long as we're together."

"This isn't my home," Kyle said softly, his thoughts going directly to Stan. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, he saw that it was already past 9; no doubt Stan was already at work and none the wiser about Kyle's whereabouts. This knowledge made Kyle feel so hopelessly sad he could barely stand it.

"Why so melancholy all of a sudden?" Mark asked, coming around the bed and sitting beside Kyle. He caressed Kyle's cheek for a moment and then reached out, lifting the snow globe from its perch on the nightstand. Handing it to Kyle, his face took on a warm tenderness. "I just want to make you happy."

Kyle flipped the globe upside down and watched as the snow collected on the curved top of the orb, feeling a weird satisfaction when it had finally all gathered. Almost mesmerized, he slowly turned it right-side up and watched with pure pleasure as the flecks of glitter and white wafted through the water and settled over the trees and cabin, his eyes flitting to the window where real snow continued to fall in droves. He was finding it much easier to focus on the globe instead of Mark, whose presence could only be described as terrifying and stifling at this juncture. Finally, he spoke, even though his gaze didn't break from watching the fake snow swirl and settle.

"I'm not happy, Mark," he said, raw voice faint and trembling slightly. "None of this makes me happy. I feel like you're trying to lock me in a cage or something."

Idly, Mark slipped a finger under Kyle's collar and tugged gently.

"At the risk of sounding like a pretentious fuck, wouldn't you say we're all locked in one kind of cage or another?" Mark asked, continuing to tug on Kyle's collar in little jerks. "At least you're aware of yours, and it's actually pretty nice, don't you think?" He gestured around the room, clearly trying to call Kyle's attention to its grandeur. "I'd even say it's gilded, wouldn't you?"

Infuriated, Kyle yanked himself away from Mark's hand.

"You do sound like a pretentious fuck, Mark, and I don't give a shit if I'm aware of my metaphorical cage or whatever. I also don't care how fucking nice it is, I don't want to be here with you. At all. I want to leave!"

Mark just stared at him for a moment, his dark eyes contemplative but surprisingly not registering any rage yet. If anything, he seemed overwhelmingly calm this time around, almost like anger wasn't even necessary to get what he wanted. Wordlessly, he reached out and tweaked one of Kyle's curls and smiled fondly.

"Metaphorical, huh?" He asked, softly. "Well, we don't have to operate in metaphors, Kyle. We could bring this to a literal level, if you'd like."

"What the fuck are you talking about now?" Kyle snapped, his hands still clamped around the snow globe. "I never fucking know what you're talking about, Mark. Why do you have to be so ambiguous all the time?"

"I thought that was pretty easy to follow but whatever," Mark said, tweaking Kyle's curl again. "As for my supposed ambiguity, what can I say?" He shrugged. "I like being a puzzle. Doesn't that make it more fun to figure me out?"

"I don't want to figure you out, you prick," Kyle seethed, pulling away and going to the other side of the bed where he slowly stood, his entire body shaking. "I want to get the fuck out of here. I don't want to have anything to do with you!"

Mark stood as well, smiling serenely as he studied Kyle from head to toe; drinking him in.

"I never could've predicted that my own cage would have red hair and a smart ass mouth," he said, crossing his arms. "Who would've thought?"

For a moment, Kyle could only imagine hurling the snow globe still clutched in his hands straight at Mark's face, but he fought back the impulse.

"I'm not making you do or feel anything against your will," Kyle replied. "The way you feel and the way you're acting is completely on you, Mark. You can stop this at any time and you just fucking refuse." Hateful tears started welling up in Kyle's eyes as he spoke, the gravity of his situation and utter hopelessness taking him over. "Why? Just, why? I don't understand why you can't leave me alone. Why me, Mark? Why?!"

"This question again," Mark sighed, rolling his eyes. "As if love could ever be explained in words."

"But I don't love you!" Kyle screamed, almost positive that his sanity was finally beginning to crack into pieces. Why the fuck couldn't he make him understand?!

Mark became very still at his words, his whole body straightening as he regarded Kyle. The darkness in his eyes was parting like a tumultuous sea, and once again that cardinal flash could be seen, but this time it didn't disappear; it stayed. Kyle could feel his heartbeat increasing as he watched the crimson swallow up the darkness, muddling it until it had a Merlot quality. Rage was seeping into Mark's demeanor now, he could feel it almost like it was pushing into his skin like tiny pinpricks.

"But I'm sure you love Stan, don't you?" He asked, voice dangerously soft. "You've given your heart to him, is that it?" Slowly, he started walking around the bed toward Kyle. "Maybe I should just fucking tear your heart out and send it to him in the mail. That way he'll never have to question who the fuck it belongs to. Not like me."

"W-what? I don't -" Kyle started to say, backing up at the look in Mark's eyes and his horrible words. Mark had always been frightening when he got into a mood like this, but right now, with his fractured, disquieting eyes, Kyle could hardly move his terror was so strong. Images of the switchblade he'd pulled out of his pocket the night before flooded his thoughts, only reinforcing his fear. No doubt if a heart needed to be cut out, that would surely do the trick.

"J-just calm down, Mark," Kyle stammered, backing up until he was up against the cold windows; their chill bleeding through his t-shirt. "I'm sorry, okay? Don't do anything you'd regret. Please."

"Regret?" Mark asked, like the word was completely foreign to him. "What is there to regret? Don't you want Stan to have your heart?"

"Here we go with literal interpretations instead of the metaphorical," Kyle replied, trying to laugh a little though he was trembling so hard at this point he almost felt he might vomit.

Mark's eyes were still flashing as he came closer.

"So, what's the deal, Kyle? You don't love me, as you've so emphatically stated, so you must love Stan because you're more than willing to spread your legs for him. Am I right? Do I have a grasp of the situation?"

Kyle winced as Mark blocked him in, both hands resting on either side of his head so he couldn't move away; much like the night before in his bedroom. He also recoiled at Mark's vulgar way of wording things, a trait he'd never gotten used to, even in better times.

"It isn't like that," Kyle said, trying to explain but hardly able to find the words.

"Then help me understand," Mark replied, pressing the full length of his body against Kyle's, making him feel nauseous as he realized that Mark was already becoming hard. "Do you love Stan or not, or do you just like fucking him? That doesn't sound like the basis of a sustainable relationship. Not like us," he added, leaning down and kissing Kyle's temple. "We actually have substance, Kyle. You have to see that."

"Mark, please," Kyle sobbed, unraveling at the sensation of being trapped and threatened. "Just stop. I can't take this anymore."

"Can't take what? Hearing the truth?" Mark asked, licking his lips apart and kissing him with a slowness that only reinforced his fears. "It is the truth, isn't it, Kyle?"

"Just let me go," Kyle cried, leaning his head back against the window and hugging the snow globe to his chest. He wanted to say more, but the words dissolved as sobs poured from his lips, his brain becoming blanketed with unrelenting surrealism and horror. He yelped when Mark's hands gripped his head and yanked him forward so they were eye to eye. Staring into the abyss of Mark's eyes, he could feel himself unraveling further, almost like he was falling headlong into a bottomless well. All at once, his body started to slacken as tension flowed from him, and his bones became watery as he drowned in Mark's gaze; strange eyes glowing like imperfect rubies.

"Relax," Mark purred, winding his fingers through Kyle's curls and pulling him against his chest. "Just relax, Kyle. You're so tense. Let me take care of you."

Kyle opened his mouth to speak, to protest, but suddenly he felt like the option was being pulled from him, almost like he was paralyzed; mind drowning in confusion and fog. The only thing that seemed real in that moment was the cold seeping through the windows at his back and the cool curvature of the snow globe clasped in his hands. Whimpering, he shut his eyes as Mark stroked through his hair and held him close, his presence obliterating Kyle's resolve even as his mind screamed at him to fight.

 _Someone save me, please,_ he cried inside of his head. _Before it's too late; I don't know how much more of this I can take._

_Please!_

_*****_

Kyle's eyes kept drifting to the window as he sat in the warm kitchen, the amber glow of the overhead lights making him feel drowsy as he contemplated his full plate of pancakes; a fragrant cup of coffee waiting a finger's width away. Mark's back was turned to him as he busied himself at the stove, flipping another pancake and humming along with the piano music pouring from the Bose speaker on the counter.

"Comptine d'un autre été: L'après-midi," he said, turning off the stove with a snap and bringing his own plate to the counter where he placed it beside Kyle's. Frowning, he studied Kyle's plate. "You aren't eating."

"I'm not hungry," Kyle replied dully, his eyes still resting on the world outside, deluged in white and teeming with ice.

Mark brought a hand to Kyle's thigh and slid it up his side, under his t-shirt and over his jutting rib cage. Pinching the flesh softly, Kyle yelped.

"I like when you're thin, Kyle, but this is getting out of hand. Eat. Now."

"I can't," Kyle said, trembling. "I feel nauseous."

"Why?"

Kyle continued to watch the window, wishing desperately to be outside and away from all of this; Mark's strange eyes, his questions, his very presence.

"I'm scared," he whispered.

Mark scoffed, taking a sip of his own coffee.

"That's not a good enough reason to starve yourself," he said. "Besides, you don't have anything to be scared of. Now," he lifted Kyle's fork, eyebrows raised. "Open your mouth. If you're going to act like a child, I'm going to feed you like one."

Kyle shook his head, clamping his mouth shut. His dignity seemed to be pouring through his fingers like grains of sand, and he hated it; hated the way Mark could reduce him to a quivering, shaking mess with hardly any effort.

"Kyle, don't test me," Mark said, the fork hanging in the air between them, golden pancakes speared on the end. "You won't like the outcome."

"I never do," Kyle eked out between his trembling lips. Turning his head away, he continued to resist when Mark's hand settled on the back of his neck, urging him forward.

"Turn your fucking head and open your goddamn mouth," Mark seethed, finally succeeding in jerking his head around and forcing Kyle to face him. Before Kyle could turn again, Mark locked eyes with him and like before they glistened like pools of blood congealing under a corpse. Whimpering, he could feel himself becoming locked in Mark's strange gaze, heart fluttering as every part of his body started to give in.

"Y-your eyes," he gasped, feeling himself unraveling and becoming loose as his jaw muscles unclenched. "W-what are you doing to me?"

Smirking, Mark seized his opportunity immediately, deftly sliding the fork into Kyle's mouth and then smoothly pushing up under his chin to keep his lips pressed together.

"Chew," he commanded, simply; eyes continuing to burn and hypnotize Kyle. "You need to eat, Kyle. I'm just doing what's best for you."

Humiliation washed through Kyle as he slowly chewed the pancakes, the food melding together and becoming a solid lump that almost refused to slide down his throat. Tears burned at his eyes as he continued to look into Mark's face, his powerful gaze never wavering as Kyle masticated. One shaking hand flew to Kyle's throat as he tried to force the food down, his fingers drifting over the horrible collar as he panicked, convinced he was going to choke.

"Here," Mark said, gently, holding Kyle's mug of coffee to his lips. "Drink a little. It'll help."

Gratitude and fury sloshed in Kyle's gut as he took a sip of the liquid, relishing in its sweetness and warmth as it gushed down his throat and cleared the passage. Breathing deeply, he stared at Mark with new fear as his eyes continued to glimmer like sinister rubies. Mark returned his gaze with a passive determination, his jaw set as he speared more pancakes with the fork.

"You're different," Kyle whispered. "I don't know how, but you've changed. When I look into your eyes, I don't feel like myself...I don't feel like I can control my own body."

"I am different, Kyle," Mark replied, bringing the fork to Kyle's lips. Cocking an eyebrow, he waited for Kyle to open his mouth and smirked when he acquiesced, ignoring the look of hatred shot his way. "I made a deal in order to get what I want." He paused a moment, a thoughtful look gracing his features. "Scratch that, I'm only taking what I deserve; let's be fair here."

"You don't deserve me," Kyle snapped back, chewing aggressively and swallowing. "You deserve to burn in Hell, you fucking -"

Snickering, Mark clamped his hand over Kyle's mouth and leaned forward, laughing like he'd just heard the funniest joke in the world. Sitting up, he looked at Kyle with fondness and he was relieved to see that the red had seeped out of Mark's eyes, leaving a warm coffee color behind.

"You've already tried that, remember? Sending me to Hell, I mean. How'd that work out for you?"

"I hope you suffered," Kyle spat, hating himself for sounding so cruel and unforgiving but hardly able to help it. Mark seemed determined to push him to the boundaries of his own sanity and ability to maintain his humanity, but he was getting to the point where he didn't care; he just wanted him to fucking disappear so he could be free.

Mark's eyes narrowed as he pushed another forkful of food into Kyle's mouth, the hand gripping the fork holding it so tightly the knuckles were white.

"Oh, I suffered, Kyle. Immensely so," he said, softly. "You don't need to worry about that."

Setting the fork down with a clatter, Mark reached down and yanked up his own dark shirt, revealing his flat abdomen. Kyle gasped to see the jagged scar snaking through the taut flesh, his eyes widening at the awful sight. Mark ran a finger over the raised skin, which passed right under his navel and stretched completely across his stomach.

"Damien," he muttered, dropping his shirt. "That dirty fucking jackal. But it was worth it."

"Why did he let you go? I still don't understand," Kyle asked, his eyes continuing to linger on Mark's stomach even though his shirt was covering the hideous disfigurement.

"Because I know how to bargain," Mark said, sliding Kyle's plate toward him. "I think you know you don't have an option here, so unless you want me to start fucking force-feeding you, I suggest you finish that entire plate."

Somehow, Kyle fought back his rage, sorrow, and bitterness and started clearing the food from his plate, every bite tasting like sawdust as it slid over his tongue. His appetite certainly didn't improve with Mark watching him the whole time, his amused eyes peering over the rim of his mug as he took long sips; his other hand resting on Kyle's naked thigh.

"You look so cute in my shirt," he commented, setting his mug aside. "I like how all of my clothes are too big for you."

Kyle slammed his fork down and pushed his empty plate away.

"How did you get the fucking collar in my room, Mark?" He snapped, hand clenched on the edge of the counter. "You told me you'd actually answer my questions!"

Mark leaned on the counter, his head propped in his hand as he assumed a languid air, eyes sliding down Kyle's frame and taking in his bottomless state; pale thighs glowing whitely under the overhead lights. Nervously, Kyle yanked his shirt down as far as it could go, hating the way Mark could make him feel so naked and exposed.

"I did, didn't I?" Mark said, almost sounding bored. "Fine, if you want to know so badly, I came through the window."

Kyle raised an eyebrow, hands still clenched in his shirt.

"The window? But my room is on the second floor, and I always lock it. How could you possibly -"

"I have my ways."

"What ways?" Kyle asked, his suspicions morphing into abject terror with every passing second. "And why are your eyes so fucking weird now?"

Mark smirked, eyes glowing red momentarily and then receding back to normalcy.

"Weird? How so?"

Kyle stood abruptly, his sudden movement knocking his stool backward where it connected with the floor with a resounding crack.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about! Now quit being coy and fucking tell me!" He yelled.

Mark just looked at him, his expression lapsing into wry amusement, almost like he was watching the antics of a petulant, bratty child. He let the silence stretch between them until Kyle could hardly stand it, his body shaking from residual pain and being overwhelmed with too much emotion at once.

"Are you done?" He asked, voice aggravatingly calm.

"Mark, just tell me, please," Kyle said, voice hitching as he tried to keep it from trembling. "You promised."

"I'll explain everything, Kyle," he said. "After all, I'm a man of my word, but I'm not going to tell you anything before I'm ready."

Kyle laughed but it came out sounding bitter, almost like a hollow bark.

"Damien said he was a man of his word, too; look where that got me."

Mark's expression immediately warped from amusement to stormy irritation.

"Fuck Damien," he said, practically baring his teeth. "If it were up to me, I'd fucking snap his neck. He thinks he's so fucking smart, but I know better." He smiled, but it was decidedly grotesque. "I love seeing the disappointment on his face every time he tries to break me down and he can't. He fucking can't, and he never will. He's so fucking weak that it makes me sick."

Turning, he took one last sip of his coffee and stood, brushing off the front of his shirt. He peered at Kyle, eyebrows raised as he studied him.

"Let's take a tour, shall we?"

Taken aback, Kyle just stared at him.

"What?"

Mark glanced around the kitchen, almost like he was appraising their surroundings.

"There's so much of this house you've never seen, and there are things I'd like to show you. I think you'd find them interesting." He glanced at Kyle, waiting. "What do you think?"

"Do I have a choice?" Kyle asked, feeling unbelievably drained. More than anything he just wanted to escape the situation and run directly to Stan but he knew that wasn't an option at the moment.

Mark just laughed and reached out to take hold of Kyle's hand, squeezing it gently.

"Of course not. Let's go."

******

Reluctantly, Kyle followed behind Mark as he led him through the twisting hallways of the massive house, suddenly realizing just how little he'd actually seen of it. On every wall there were oil paintings and portraits of family members, their dark, solemn eyes following the pair as they passed over the sumptuous wine red carpet; the house hushed almost like it was holding its breath. It was at times like this that Kyle couldn't help but feel like the mansion was truly a living thing, a reclining dragon waiting in the woods and devouring anyone stupid enough to wander too close. A chill ran through him at the thought, along with the drafts drifting through the air; his bare legs covered in gooseflesh. Mark's oversized shirt fell over one shoulder, exposing the milky skin and only adding to the cold seeping into Kyle's bones.

"Ah, here we are," Mark said, coming to an impressive set of double doors and drawing Kyle close to his side; his fingers feeling like they were caught in a vice. "I think you'll find this particular room very entertaining, Kyle."

"I highly doubt that," Kyle retorted, glancing up at the huge doors with wide eyes. He tried to resist, but Mark yanked him forward, pulling him across the threshold. Once inside, Kyle gazed around, the room illuminated by the pale glow of the snow and weak sunlight filtering through the window; ornate curtains drawn back. Every wall was covered with the heads of slain beasts, their eyes empty and glassy; jaws widened in silent screams. One wall was almost completely dominated by a giant stone fireplace, cold and empty now, but clearly very impressive when lit up with a roaring fire.

"Grandfather's trophy room," Mark said, idly, eyes traveling around the room. "There's his collection of guns I mentioned to you before. Remember?" He pointed to the rows of guns mounted on the wall and leaning in a gleaming chestnut case, the sunlight striking them and catching the rich wood and silvery barrels; dozens of them waiting in quiet repose.

"Y-yes, I remember," Kyle replied, shivering; his hand still clutched tightly in Mark's. His eyes slid over the array of firearms, his heart beating frantically at the memory of Mark's earlier threat, of snuffing out Stan with one of these very guns; the thought putting new horror in his blood. "Mark, why are you showing me this?"

Mark waved a hand dismissively, steering him away from the guns. Kyle glanced with terror at all of the animal heads, deer and bears and foxes jutting out and practically leering at him. On the floor was the skin of a tiger, stretched out in front of the fireplace and making his flesh crawl. Tusks and antlers were interspersed among the heads, large and impressive but still horrifying to him.

"I don't care about any of this," Mark commented, gesturing toward the heads and various trophies. "Honestly, I was never impressed with the spoils of my grandfather's forays into big game hunting. If anything, I find it unbearably barbaric. Don't you?"

Kyle nodded his head timidly, eyes straying and resting on an ostentatious oil painting of two young children standing next to a handsome grey-haired gentleman, their eyes appearing sad and wistful; almost seeming lost. It only took him a moment to figure out who the children were. He pointed to it, almost forgetting the severity of his situation; taken aback by the painting's mysterious charm.

"Is that you? And Rebecca?"

Mark looked at the painting with abject disregard, strange eyes glimmering with casual indifference.

"Yes," he finally said. "It's ridiculous, isn't it? Commissioning an oil painting in this day and age? But that's just how my grandfather was, I suppose. Everything had to be over the top, if you couldn't already tell," he said, wryly, glancing around the room.

"You both look so sad," Kyle commented, pulling his hand from Mark's and drawing closer to the painting. He studied it, almost wishing he could go back in time and meet the Mark and Rebecca from yesteryear; wanting to know them when they still appeared so innocent.

"We were lonely," Mark said, coming up beside him. "But we had each other." He reached down and took a hold of Kyle's hand again. "And now I have you too, Kyle."

Kyle closed his eyes and fought back the nausea rising up from his belly. Opening them again, he turned his head slightly where his gaze fell on a number of large cages sitting in the corner of the room. Just seeing them filled him with a creeping terror, his entire body rejecting them outright. Mark had been studying him and when he saw his reaction, he looked to see what Kyle was focusing on. Excitement seemed to fill him and all at once he was pulling Kyle toward them, ignoring the way Kyle's feet dragged with every step.

"This is what I really wanted to show you in here," Mark said, yanking him closer and stopping in front of the largest of the cages. He ran a hand over it, his eyes shining with admiration. "My grandfather had a bunch of hunting dogs that he absolutely adored," he explained. "Sometimes I feel like he loved them even more than Becky and I. Anyway, while most people would keep their dogs in a kennel or whatever, my grandfather chose to keep them in here. His largest, a mastiff named Lobo, lived in this cage." He glanced at Kyle, smiling cruelly.

"Would you like to climb inside and try it out? I think you're just the right size."

Kyle tried to pull his hand from Mark's, backing up as complete terror seized him, his eyes never leaving the cage. Mark just laughed and held onto him tightly, his fingers locking around Kyle's until he almost thought they would snap in half. Yanking him back, he pulled Kyle to his chest and rested his cheek against the top of his head.

"I'm only kidding, of course," Mark said, pressing a light kiss against Kyle's temple. "Unless of course you try to disobey, then maybe I'm not so sure."

"No," Kyle whispered, still trying to fight his way out of Mark's hold. "I won't, you can't -"

"This is what I meant about transcending the metaphorical, Kyle," Mark murmured, hugging him close. "I'm more than prepared to trap you in a literal cage. You see?"

"You wouldn't," Kyle choked out, mind overcome with terror and disgust.

"Mm, I would," Mark said, kissing his cheek. "Don't test me, Kyle. I'm never afraid to take things to another level. You've been ruthless in the past, haven't you? You know that sometimes there isn't a ceiling for situations like this; I can always take it a step further. Speaking of which," he drifted off, his eyes darting to the other side of the room.

Kyle followed his gaze, and when he saw what his focus was lingering on, he wrenched himself out of Mark's grasp and desperately started racing for the door. Fighting back sobs, he pulled on the knobs and discovering they were locked and wouldn't turn, he desperately started banging on the door so hard that his hands throbbed with agony.

"Help! Help me! Someone fucking help me! Please!" He screamed, frantically beating on the wood as tears coursed down his cheeks, nearly blinding him. "For the love of God, HELP!" Terror overtook him as he started throwing himself against the door, his shoulder screaming with every fruitless attempt. Dark laughter made him look over his shoulder, his entire body nearly crumbling with pain and panic. Mark was standing there, barely an arm's length away, clutching one of the knives he'd been studying when Kyle had broken away and tried to escape.

"No one can hear you, Kyle. You know that," he said, tutting a little. "Stop being silly, please."

Kyle felt his sanity crumbling as he stared at the knife, its edge glittering wickedly in the fragile sunlight pouring into the room; sharpened paper-thin and lethal. Coming to his senses momentarily, he nearly tripped as he sprinted away, his body coated in terror-sweat as his heart threatened to leap right out of his mouth, all of his senses burning as complete terror arrested him. He ran to the window and started pounding on it, the glass shivering with every strike.

"Kyle, you're just acting foolish," Mark chastised, walking toward him slowly. "Now behave and this will be so much easier for you."

"No, stay away! Stay the fuck away from me, you psycho!" Kyle screamed, backing toward the far wall, where the awful cages crouched and waited. Like a trapped and cornered animal, he started shaking uncontrollably as he looked around desperately for an escape. Mark continued to advance on him, the knife clenched in his fist; his eyes deluged in the cardinal scarlet shade, almost like they were weeping fresh blood.

Kyle continued to back away, sobbing now as all of his defenses and sense of reality collapsed within him, body trembling and adrenaline rushing through his bloodstream almost like sizzling lightning. All at once, he felt his back and legs coming up against harsh stone, and he turned to see that he had somehow been cornered against the fireplace. Glancing up, he saw a heavy pewter tankard sitting on the mantel and without a second thought, he reached up and grabbed it down. Brandishing it, he turned back to Mark.

"You better get the fuck away from me, Mark," he yelled, holding the solid tankard in front of him.

Mark glanced at the tankard, smirking dismissively. Undeterred, he continued to advance on Kyle.

"Or what? You aren't going to do anything, Kyle," he said, rolling his eyes. "You never do. No, you just make threats but you wouldn't -"

Screaming with fury, Kyle didn't wait for Mark to finish taunting him, deciding within a split second to hurl the heavy object straight at his handsome, jeering face. He relished Mark's look of complete surprise until the tankard connected with his left eye, a sickening crack echoing through the room as metal crashed through bone. Mark screamed and crumpled to the floor, dropping the knife and clutching at his face, sheets of blood pouring forth and splattering down the front of his clothes and onto the carpet. For a moment, Kyle almost thought he was going to faint at the sight but he quickly decided this was hardly the time to black out, opting instead to dart away from the fireplace and back toward the exit, his hands fumbling at the doorknob again.

"Please, please," he panted, fighting back nausea and outright hysteria, his entire body buzzing from nerves and racing adrenaline. Sweat was coating his skin and he was having a hard time keeping a hold on the resistant metal, the door still firmly locked and refusing to budge. Sobbing now, he slammed his bruised and shaking fists against the door with all of his might, but it was to no avail. Sliding down the cool wood, he curled into a tight ball and cried for deliverance. The minutes felt like hours as he cowered on the floor, until brittle, bitter laughter floated over from across the room, and a rustling could be heard.

Kyle could only assume that he was trapped in a living nightmare when he saw Mark rise from the floor, his hand still pressed against his injured eye. He stood there for a moment but then his head snapped to the side, blood flowing freely down his face as his one good eye studied Kyle, a cold smile jerking at his lips. Turning, he picked up the knife in a fluid motion and then he walked toward Kyle, laughing the entire time like the whole affair was one big game.

"S-stay away from me," Kyle choked out, pressing himself against the door and wrapping his arms around himself. "I mean it, Mark. STAY THE FUCK AWAY!"

"Now why would I do that?" Mark asked, finally lifting his hand from his face and smiling widely; canines shining white and sharp in the caustic sunlight.

Kyle gasped, hardly believing his eyes. Mark's face seemed to be healing itself right in front of him, the skin coming back together and closing up slowly; flesh knitting and pulverized eye fusing together almost like he'd never been injured in the first place. Bile rose in his throat as he watched the hellish spectacle, Mark seeming to glory in this new development.

"Your face," Kyle whispered. "How? I-I don't understand, you were...." he faded away, his voice escaping him as he tried to make sense of utter insanity.

Mark pouted a little, reaching up with the knife and rubbing the back of it against his cheek.

"Well, that's a shame. I didn't want to give away the secret so quickly, but I guess it can't be helped." He shrugged, slightly. "As much as I despise Damien I have to give him some credit, he made all of this possible." He gestured to his completely healed eye, currents of blood still raining down his cheek in cardinal streams. "He also gave me a wonderful idea. Do you want to know what it is?"

He knelt in front of Kyle and licked the knife, his pink tongue toying with the blade as he looked deeply into his eyes; their color matching the blood spattered across his face. Kyle couldn't even respond, so great was his terror and shock. All he could do was huddle against the door, arms wrapped tightly around himself as he trembled.

"Remember my scar, where Damien marked me as his property?" Mark asked, voice dropping to lilting, dulcet tones. He brought up the knife and held it by the tip of the blade, making it swing back and forth like a pendulum. "How about we try that on for size? What do you think?"

Crying out, Kyle tried to crawl away, his knees burning as they tore across the rough carpet, sobs practically choking him as they welled up his terror-constricted throat. He didn't make it very far before Mark was grabbing his ankle and yanking him back. Clawing at the floor, he begged for Mark to let him go but that only elicited more laughter from his assailant.

"Just relax, Kyle," he cooed, straddling Kyle's thighs and pulling up his t-shirt, exposing Kyle's backside to the cold air. "This will only take a moment if you cooperate. Now, let me see." He lapsed into silence as one cold finger traced an outline on Kyle's right buttock, making him shiver and fight wildly but getting absolutely nowhere.

"Quiet," Mark snapped, slapping him hard on the hip. "I'm trying to concentrate." He hummed a little, and Kyle recognized it as the music they had been listening to during breakfast. Wincing, he felt Mark's nail dig into the tender skin of his buttocks again, right on the plumpest part of his right cheek. "Yes, right there. That'll be perfect."

"Don't do this, please," Kyle sobbed, still trying to pull away but collapsing helplessly against the floor. "Please, Mark. I'm begging you."

"Mm, yes. Keep begging, that just makes this even better," Mark murmured. "Should I go with simplicity and just do my name, or should I -" he stopped, chuckling a little. "I know, it's so obvious and perfect."

Time seemed to collapse in on itself as Kyle suffered through what followed, the feeling of the sharp knife digging through his skin as Mark carved letters with artful delicacy. At first he tried to struggle away, but as the heavy moments passed and he could feel the trickles of blood falling warmly over his backside and down the curve of his hip, he rested his cheek against the floor as he felt his spirit being all but snuffed out. Little twitches and trembles moved through him like skittering animals as Mark cut his ownership into trembling, aching flesh, and all Kyle could do was gaze at the dust motes wafting through the air; almost feeling like he was exiting his own body and leaving a shell behind. After what felt like an eternity, Mark made one last little flourish with the knife and leaned back to admire his handiwork, his fingers drifting over pulsing, weeping flesh.

"There we go," he murmured, finger tracing each letter cut into Kyle's skin. "M-I-N-E. Now everyone will know when they look at you, Kyle; that you're mine, and you always will be."

Kyle couldn't respond, weariness stealing his voice and resolve, his entire body spent as he lay on the floor; cold sunlight pooling around him as snowflakes ghosted against the panes. All around him, the heads of sightless beasts seemed to be leaping from the walls, converging on him as he tried to stay rooted to reality; mind drifting elsewhere and desperately yearning to be free. He had almost started to come back to himself when Kyle heard the telltale sound of a belt being unbuckled. Weakly, he pushed himself up from the floor and glanced over his shoulder, eyes widening at the sight of Mark drawing his hard cock out of his pants.

"I wanted to wait for this but I just can't," Mark breathed, passing his hand through Kyle's blood and coating it; fingers wrapping around his erection and smearing it with the aftermath of Kyle's defilement. "I'm sure you understand, don't you? You're just too much to resist, especially when you're mine and all."

"No, please," Kyle moaned, tears cascading over his cheeks as he turned away, unable to bear looking at Mark for another moment. "You can't, please, I -"

"Shhh, this is necessary, Kyle," Mark murmured, pressing himself against Kyle's entrance. "I'm only doing this because I love you, okay? You know that, right?"

"No, I -" Kyle started to say, eyes widening as he felt Mark pushing into him; his body unprepared for the invasion and screaming as he mouthed wordlessly against the pain. Jolted forward by Mark's thrust, he grasped at the carpet as his mind started darkening, the last lingering thoughts he could hold onto being of Stan and wishing for him so profoundly that he choked out his name before dissolving on the floor; eyes shutting tight against the onslaught of Mark's violence.

 _Stan, I'm so sorry,_ he thought, tears sliding over his face and exploding on the carpet. _I tried to fight...I really did...._

With this final plea, Kyle finally let go and he fell headlong into the darkness, the smells of blood and terror drifting under his nose as Mark continued to violate him; senses shutting off as the pain became too much to bear. Gratefully, he surrendered to oblivion, praying that the misery couldn't follow him as the waters quietly closed over his head; drenching him in their blessed stillness.

******

Kyle came to hours later, judging by the positioning of the sun as its rays fell through Mark's windows; his entire body wracked with a weariness so deep he could feel it in the marrow of his bones. He was lying on his front, his head nestled in the pillows, limbs stretched across Mark's bed. His backside was throbbing for numerous reasons, the cuts burning in his flesh and the evidence of Mark's assault radiating through him until the shame was overwhelming. Moaning, he managed to turned over, bones creaking and fragile flesh sensitive even against the softness of the blankets cushioning him. Glancing around the shadowed room, Kyle was surprised to see that he was alone.

Tenuous hope flooded him as he slowly and painfully crept to the edge of the bed, fighting back tears of pain as he threw his legs over the side and pressed his feet to the floor. Trembling, he attempted to stand but his legs gave out, forcing him to drag himself across the floor on his hands and knees. Silence washed over the stillness of the room as his raspy breaths grated across his dry lips, when a sound from the bathroom caught his attention. A faint buzzing could be heard, and he pricked up his ears to listen.

 _No, it couldn't be_ , he thought, crawling toward the bathroom; bony knees sliding over the carpet. He whimpered when a sudden movement seemed to aggravate the knife wounds on his buttock, the feeling of fresh blood falling down his thigh making him cringe. Undaunted, he continued on, determined to find the source of the sound. He knew he should be questioning why Mark had left him alone, but in his agony and fear he didn't even want to waste a thought on him, his entire being focused on finding a way out immediately.

The sound continued as he pulled himself toward the bathroom, the buzz radiating through the dead air and digging into his ears. It sounded so familiar, but he could hardly dare to hope that it could be -

His eyes widened with confused, almost delirious delight when he saw the illuminated screen of his phone through the darkness; the buzzing sound continuing as it vibrated and shimmied across the tiled bathroom floor. From across the room, he could see Stan's picture on the display as the call came in, and more than ever Kyle needed to hear his sweet, reassuring voice. Elation cut through his misery as he pressed onward, hands and knees chilled against the cold tiles as he crawled forward. He was only a hand's length away from being able to grab his phone when something jerked him back, and he realized with cold, cutting clarity that he hadn't noticed something very important in his frenzy to escape.

Glancing back, he saw that a silver manacle was firmly fitted around one ankle, a heavy length of chain stretching back and into Mark's bedroom. Turning, he clawed at the metal, mind screaming with terror as he tried to wrench it off.

"No, no, no, no, no," he chanted, sobbing as his fingers wrestled with the constraint. "This can't be happening...no...."

Behind him, the phone finally stopped vibrating, and he turned to see the screen going dark as the call went to voicemail, all of his hopes crushed in the face of overwhelming silence. Fury fought for precedence against his fear at being confined as he reached out as far as he could go, his hand coming so close to his phone he could almost taste it, but it was no use. Glancing around, he tried to find an object he could use to drag the phone closer, but the bathroom was hatefully bare; clearly, Mark had fucking thought of everything. Just like always.

Panic-stricken, Kyle turned tail and crawled as quickly as his wrecked body would allow back into Mark's bedroom, his hands and knees ghosting over the rough carpet. Straining against the manacle locked around his ankle, he tried to reach for the door but it might as well have been in another timezone; his fingers not even coming close to touching the doorknob. It was becoming obvious to him that Mark had very carefully measured out the length of heavy chain, affording him enough to make it to the toilet in the bathroom but not nearly enough to reach the door. Bitterly, his thoughts strayed back to his phone. That had just been a ruse, a sick joke on Mark's part. He knew that Kyle would try to make a grab for it, his hopes crashing in on him when he discovered it was just out of his reach.

"That sick fuck," Kyle whispered, following the chain to see where it was secured. Coming back to the bed, he saw that it was wound around the thick post of the bed frame and padlocked in place. Desperately, he tried to shove the bed but it was so heavy he knew it was no use; the frame made of sturdy, impressive oak and thicker than Kyle's thigh. He'd never be able to move it, not in a million years. Hopelessness dropped on him like a pile of bricks as he heard his phone begin to vibrate in the bathroom again, every pulse like a knife to his already shredded heart. _  
_

"FUCK!" He screamed, mind breaking apart as he contemplated the horror of his situation and hating the way Mark always seemed to be five steps ahead of everyone else. Pulling himself onto his knees, he screamed and cried in fury and fear, his body wracked with sobs, fatigue, and agony as tears drenched his face. How the fuck had he let this situation become this bad? Where had he gone wrong that he had ended up in such a fate? How the fuck was he going to save himself now?

"You dirty fucking prick!" He yelled, voice breaking as he cried out, hoping and praying fervently that Mark could hear every word. "I'm going to FUCKING KILL YOU. I swear to God, you better let me the fuck out of here!"

He beat his fists against the floor, the skin already bruised from pounding on the door of the trophy room. He didn't care, though; he needed to get all of these awful, soul-sucking feelings out before they completely tore him apart. Kyle screamed and cursed for what felt like hours until his voice was gone, ragged, burning breathing grating through his windpipe as his lungs begged for a rest. The sun was almost gone by this point but enough was still sliding through the windows that a faint glimmer rested on the curve of the lovely snow globe, the winter scene within looking even more tempting in the midst of his dreadful circumstances.

Trembling from exhaustion and rage, Kyle reached out and took the snow globe into his hands, hugging it close to his chest as the fake snow ebbed and flowed; glimmers of glitter catching his famished eyes and dazzling them. Clutching it, wayward tears slid from his cheeks and splashed on the glass, streaking downward and falling away. Trying to relax and feeling almost hypnotized, he tipped the globe and almost became lost as the cabin and trees disappeared in a flurry of white. Slowly, he slumped over and lay on his side, continuously shaking the snow globe and watching the drifts falling time and time again. He did this until he fell into a fitful sleep, the manacle biting into his skin as the sun disappeared beyond the mountains, plunging the room into absolute darkness.

******

Silence stretched through the room broken only by Mark's soft humming and the swish of the brush against the carpet; red splatters fading away slowly as he worked. He'd been working steadily for almost an hour and finally they were receding but it had been a trial the whole time. Sighing, he sat back on his knees and surveyed the devastation of his grandfather's beloved trophy room, pink smears marring the carpet in a trail from in front of the fireplace over toward the door. He could have very easily left this mess for Janice to clean up, but in light of certain circumstances he didn't think it was the best idea. After all, no one needed to know about his little redheaded captive and his stubborn refusal to accept the reality of his situation; his destiny, really.

 _Kyle is showing a lot more backbone than usual,_ he mused inwardly, going back to scrubbing at the stubborn stains. _I seriously didn't think he'd ever have enough chutzpah to actually lob a fucking piece of iron at my face._

He could've laughed if he wasn't still so irritated. True, he'd been able to subdue Kyle and he'd even marked him as his own, on the outside _and_ inside, but he still couldn't get over his audacity, his gall. Who the fuck did he think he was? What was worse was that he'd seen Mark's secret. Maybe he didn't fully grasp how different Mark was, but he had an idea and he really hadn't wanted to reveal that yet. He'd always been a fan of slow build-ups and careful revelations, but Kyle had forced his hand and now he was going to have to play the game differently; a fact which didn't sit well with him because he hadn't chosen it, it'd been forced on him.

But, God, he'd been sweet, hadn't he? Mark could feel himself smiling with pleasure as he remembered the red slashes marring that pert, white backside; the way the knife had dipped into Kyle's skin like butter. He tapped his fingers against the carpet for every letter he'd carved, relishing in the sound of them as he spoke into the quiet:

"M-I-N-E."

He knew it was hopelessly macabre but there was such a deliciousness that accompanied the act of carving one's ownership into the flesh of another. And then, _then_ , taking him there on the floor as the blood strayed over his hip, the feeble sunlight catching in Kyle's hair as he finally gave in and became still. Really, the whole affair had been so beautiful that Mark hadn't lasted nearly as long as he would've liked, but there was time now; so much glorious time to fill with whatever he chose. Kyle would be waking up soon and discovering the little surprise wrapped around his ankle, an event which Mark could hardly wait to experience. He knew his cruelty was reaching new heights but it was the least that he could do to Kyle considering the depths of his betrayal. No, Kyle needed to learn who was in charge so he wouldn't think to cross Mark again, that was a clear and irrefutable fact.

"I do so love to see you on your knees, pet," a dark voice chimed in, breaking him from his reverie but not startling him like it might've in the past.

Glancing over, Mark saw Damien lounging on the couch stretched in front of the cold fireplace, long legs crossed and his head cradled in his hand. He was watching him with bored amusement, one claw ticking against the upholstery as a casual smile lingered on his thin, bloodless lips.

"What the fuck do you want?" Mark asked, continuing to scrub away at the defiled carpet. "I'm kind of busy here."

"I can see that," Damien replied, wryly; murderous eyes flicking back and forth with every movement of the scrub brush. "I must say, this seems beneath you, though. I didn't think you were one for manual labor."

"I'm not," Mark snapped. "But it couldn't be helped. Kyle -"

"Fought back," Damien interjected, smiling widely. "I saw."

"Naturally," Mark said, mood darkening even more. "He wasn't supposed to do that. Kyle knows better, or at least he should."

Damien watched him in silence for a moment, the sound of the brush grating against Mark's ears along with the demon's presence.

"You can't manipulate the lamb the way you can your sister, pet," Damien finally said, claw still tapping the couch. "All you had to do was look into her eyes and she fell."

Mark sat back on his heels and gazed up at the oil painting of the two of them with their grandfather, faces identical and already awash in quiet resignation. Even at a young age they had already realized that the world didn't have much to offer them. Maybe that's why they had ended up turning to one another, but who could really say at this point? His thoughts drifted to the night he'd come back to his sister, the way her beautiful skin had been drenched in the hot bathwater, and he shuddered a little. She'd been reluctant, afraid, at first, but all he'd had to do was touch her and she'd been back in his arms. Maybe he had manipulated her thoughts a little, but he was starting to think that hadn't even been necessary. Becky loved him completely, no matter what, and she'd always come back to him because that's where she knew she belonged.

"Kyle's so stubborn," he whispered, still studying the long-ago portrait; swirls of dark oil paint spreading across the canvas. Their mother had even dressed them in matching sailor suits, stiff, white hats resting on their dark brown hair.

"It's because Rebecca loves you and Kyle doesn't, pet," Damien said, his attention drifting to the painting as well. "She's susceptible to your advances because she wants them, wants you. Kyle doesn't want you at all."

"That isn't true!" Mark yelled. "Kyle loves me, he just doesn't want to admit it!"

Damien just laughed and stood, ambling elegantly to the painting and running a claw across its front, creating a raspy scratch.

"Stop deluding yourself," he murmured. "It's pathetic at this point, pet. Accept the lay of the land so you can shift it to suit your tastes."

"How can I do that?" Mark asked, abandoning the brush and standing as well, fists clenched at his sides. "I tried to manipulate his thoughts but it didn't really work. I just can't seem to get a handle on them."

"You're weak," Damien commented, dryly. "You're still too human." He rolled his eyes as he spoke the words, demonstrating his repulsion for the species.

"What can you do for me?" Mark asked, coming closer and barely thinking straight at this point; Damien's words cutting into him.

Damien scoffed, his claw digging into the canvas of the painting and daring to tear it a little.

"Why should I do anything for you, pet? You're not exactly in my good graces right now. You've ignored my summons for the past week, and you still have this insufferable attitude. Really, I'm reaching the end of my rope with you." Cutting his gaze toward Mark, his eyes narrowed as he frowned, one sharp tooth stark against his mouth.

"And I heard what you said to the lamb about me. That I'm weak? Is that right?"

Mark rolled his eyes.

"That's what you get for listening in on private conversations. Why are you surprised? I'm not exactly your biggest fan; for obvious reasons." He crossed his arms and smirked, abject defiance on full display.

Damien growled softly, his entire being radiating extreme displeasure, but Mark couldn't care less. He'd long since stopped having any fear of the demon. If anything, he regarded him as inferior and something to use to his advantage. Just like everyone else, he was a means to an end; nothing more, nothing less.

"Generally I wouldn't dirty my own tongue with scripture, but do the words "pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall" mean anything to you?" Damien asked, softly, his tone akin to knives dragging over sheet metal.

"Proverbs, how quaint," Mark smirked. "Do you know how ironic it is that I've managed to drive you to a point where you're quoting the Bible?"

Damien smiled and brushed some hair from his eyes, some of his earlier rage dissipating.

"One day you'll collapse under the weight of your own hubris, pet," he said. "You realize that, right?"

"If that day isn't today than I don't really care," Mark replied, flippantly. "All I care about is -"

"The lamb. Right, right," Damien sighed. "You're like a dog with a fucking bone. Fine."

Flames erupted from his hand and after a moment he was holding the same silver dagger from before, when he'd first slashed Mark's abdomen to retrieve some of his soul. Deep revulsion flared in Mark's gut at the sight of it, but he didn't let it register on his face; choosing instead to stand his ground as he regarded it.

"The scar won't disappear," he remarked, eyes trailing over the dagger's hateful edge. "All of my other wounds heal almost immediately, but not that one."

Damien ran a thumb over the dagger's edge, testing its sharpness as he mulled over Mark's statement.

"That's because this dagger was forged by demons," he explained, drawing the dagger back and preparing to strike. "With every bit of your soul I take, you become more like us than you are human. You can only be eradicated by a dark instrument such as this."

"Ah, I see," Mark said, pulling up his shirt and girding himself for the agony to come. "And this will help me take control of Kyle?"

Suddenly, a shriek could be heard elsewhere in the house, their sensitive ears picking up Kyle's screams as he cursed Mark's name, promising revenge.

"He finally woke up, I guess," Mark said, grinning at the rage in Kyle's ragged voice. "I left a little surprise for him, too."

"If you weren't so fucking difficult I'd be proud of your natural cruelty, pet," Damien said, eyes filling with lust at the sound of Kyle's agony. "But it would seem you have your work cut out for you, too. The lamb is definitely going to be a tough nut to crack."

*******

Mark couldn't help but marvel at how light he felt now, his entire being almost feeling hollowed out but not in a bad way. Now he felt clear and focused as he made the trek to his room, Kyle's earlier screams having died down into a pregnant silence. Faint twinges of sharp pain radiated through the slash on his abdomen but he ignored them, remembering the way his thread of scarlet-colored soul had wound its way around Damien's finger and promptly died; turning to the shade of ashes. Now his mind didn't feel as muddled or bogged down in useless emotion. No, now he felt driven and determined, his entire focus resting on the difficult redhead waiting for him in his bedroom.

Pushing open the door, his eyes immediately fell on Kyle stretched across the floor, fast asleep. He was clutching the snow globe in his hands and his legs were curled up to his chest, the long t-shirt hiked up and his backside on full display; the bloody letters stark in the muted lighting falling into the room from the hallway. The light also caught on the heavy chain, laying on the floor in all its serpentine glory, the sturdy manacle looping Kyle's slender ankle. Just the sight of all of these components in one pretty picture was enough to make Mark feel aroused, but he ignored it as he entered the room and shut the door behind him.

Going over to the bedside table, he turned on the lamp and admired the way the golden light set Kyle's copper highlights on fire; his pretty scarlet curls draped across the carpet. Cinnamon freckles were scattered over the bridge of his nose, and being unable to resist Mark reached out and brushed a finger across them, causing Kyle to finally stir. Muted green eyes slid open, and for a moment sleep was caught in them like still sea water, but then the waters parted giving way to red-hot rage.

"Don't fucking touch me," Kyle snapped, sitting up and scooting across the floor, still holding the snow globe tightly. Glancing down, he seemed to remember that he was chained to the bed, and he glared at Mark with deep hatred. "And get this fucking thing off of me," he added, shaking his leg and making the chain rattle slightly. "Are you out of your fucking mind?!"

"I'll remove the chain if you promise to behave," Mark said, eyes wandering over Kyle's slender legs and lingering on the shadows under his t-shirt; his mind straying to the apex of his thighs and staying there. His arousal was still calling to him, but he tried to stay focused.

"I promise nothing," Kyle seethed. "Now fucking get this thing off of me. Now!"

"I really wanted this to go smoothly," Mark sighed, rubbing his hand over his mouth. "Why can't you just accept the situation, Kyle? Do you have to fight everything?"

"Yes, I do! I don't want to be here, Mark! I think I've made that pretty fucking clear!"

"Fine, then," Mark said, kneeling down and taking hold of a struggling, cursing Kyle; his hands resting on his upper arms and holding him with new, supernatural strength. Thrashing helplessly, Kyle tried to break his hold but he was weak, his movements barely registering in the face of Mark's grasp.

"Let me go!" Kyle yelled, the snow swirling in the snow globe as he jerked around. "Let me go, Mark!"

"Kyle, look at me," Mark said soothingly, his voice taking on a dark, haunting quality like chamber music. Reaching up, he clamped his hand on Kyle's chin and turned his face toward him, relishing in the trembles coursing through his captive's pretty, porcelain flesh. Wide, panicked eyes slid to meet Mark's, and all it took was a moment for Kyle to start slackening, his whole body becoming still as their gazes locked.

"That's better," Mark murmured, rubbing his thumb along Kyle's chin as he watched the fight drain from his eyes, the rage flowing away and being replaced by calm, green forests. It was almost like watching the death of a star, there was one last flash of brilliant light and then the collapse; all that was left was a dark vortex and a reluctant peace.

"Mark, I...I don't feel right," Kyle whispered, hands loosening on the snow globe until it slipped from his fingers. It rolled out of his grasp and onto the floor where the upset snow swirled and settled against the crystal curve of the glass.

"You feel perfect to me," Mark replied, pulling a soft and compliant Kyle closer so he could kiss his silenced lips. "Absolutely perfect. This is how it's supposed to be, Kyle."

Drawing back, he studied the docile redhead and couldn't help but admire the gorgeous blank quality stealing through his normally tumultuous eyes. Gone was the fire and all that remained was a beautiful stillness, a vague compliance that only lent fire to Mark's burgeoning desire. Who cared if he had parted with more of his soul? Now he had the power to keep Kyle firmly in place, exactly where he belonged.

"I'm going to take your manacle off, Kyle," he said, sliding a key from his pocket and lifting Kyle's leg a little. "Are you going to be good and behave for me?"

Mechanically, Kyle nodded his head, empty eyes catching the lamplight and glowing like muted emeralds. His hands were folded demurely in his lap, none of his body language suggesting that Mark had anything to worry about. Calmly, Mark slid the key in and unlocked the manacle and let it drop to the floor with a thud, his fingers soothing the raw skin that was now exposed.

"You really struggled, didn't you?" He asked. "Poor baby, you had to know it wouldn't make a difference."

Kyle turned his head slowly, a frown on his lips as he gazed at his freed ankle.

"I hurt," he said, softly. "All over."

"Then let me take care of you, okay?" Mark asked, scooping him into his arms and carrying Kyle into the bathroom where he flicked on the light. Smirking, he glanced at Kyle's phone in its careful placement on the floor. No doubt he'd tried to reach for it and had discovered it was just out of his grasp. Poor, sweet baby; his beloved little Kyle. Resisting the urge to go over and stomp it into oblivion, he settled Kyle on the toilet where he waited obediently as Mark started running the bath.

"I'll get in with you," Mark said, reaching over and drawing Kyle's shirt over his head, almost sighing to see such beauty on display just for him. Quickly, he undressed as well and held out his hand to Kyle, who took it without even a hint of protest. Mark climbed into the tub first, glorying in the wonderfully warm water, guiding Kyle gently and seating him in front of himself; instructing him to lean back against his chest.

"It really doesn't get any better than this, does it?" Mark asked, winding his arms around Kyle and drawing him close. "I know I was hard on you this morning but I don't want to punish you anymore. Now I just want us to be happy together. Don't you?"

Kyle just nodded silently, his eyes resting on the surface of the water as he allowed himself to be held tightly against Mark. Mark slid a hand down Kyle's side until it rested on his buttock where the wounds throbbed, his finger tracing lovingly over the brand he left. Just feeling the mark of his claim was enough to make his arousal resurface violently, and all at once he was lifting Kyle and sliding him over and down his cock, taking his time so he wouldn't hurt him like before.

"How's that?" He whispered, kissing Kyle's neck as he spoke right next to his ear. "Do you like that, baby?"

Kyle only moaned quietly as he reached up and gripped the edges of the tub, his head dipping forward as Mark slid into him completely. A thin line of drool poured from the corner of his mouth as he gasped, Mark's hips snapping upward and thrusting into him suddenly. The amber lighting fell over them in golden sheets as he fucked Kyle gently, the bathwater sloshing around them and reflecting Kyle's face, his lax eyes sliding shut with every movement. Steam wafted around them and Mark could feel sweat gathering on his brow as he climbed higher and higher among the stars, one hand closing over Kyle's buttock so he could feel the words cut into his skin with every thrust.

"You're mine," he growled, getting closer and closer to his beautiful end but not wanting to give in yet. "You'll always be mine, Kyle. I'll never let you get away."

"Yours," Kyle replied, faintly; voice almost lost among pants and moans. His head lolled on his shoulder as Mark sped up, his skin slick with sweat and fragrant water. Just hearing the word spill from Kyle's lips made Mark come dangerously close to finishing but he held back, his heartbeat increasing at the lovely sound of Kyle's wings being torn from his back and set ablaze.

Sliding his hand up Kyle's flushed, curved back, Mark closed his eyes and leaned his head against the rim of the heated porcelain.

"Say it again, Kyle," he said, groaning deep in his throat. "I need to hear you say it one more time."

"I-I'm yours," Kyle choked out, a sob registering in his tone that Mark ignored; focusing completely on the desire overcoming him and Kyle's absolute capitulation.

"Perfect," he breathed, holding Kyle closer as he chased his climax with dizzying abandon. "Absolutely perfect."

 


	48. Final Trial: Kyle/Stan's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Sexual assault & violence!
> 
> Wow, it's been forever and a day, you guys! I hope someone's still reading this, if so, hey, how's it going? XD
> 
> Anyway, i had to take a break from this story for awhile but I'm back and super excited. I just can't resist this story, lol...it's my sprawling, sexual, Gothic odyssey, so...let the games begin. Although, we're really winding down now and soon Mark's uppance will come, I dare say. (At least I think so. Who even knows??)
> 
> Anyway, happy reading and leave a comment if you're so inclined - i just love feedback. <3 ENJOY <3

Stan had intended to only work a morning shift that snowy Saturday, but that shift had somehow turned into an all day affair. The movie theater was short-staffed and his manager had managed to rope him into staying longer, turning his 6 hour shift into a double, a fact that he wasn't thrilled about but he could live with. The only thing that nagged at him was his promise to Kyle, to call him as soon as he was done so they could spend the rest of the weekend together, a promise he still intended to keep if Kyle would answer the damn phone so he could explain.

"Where the fuck is he?" Stan murmured, staring down at his phone and hearing Kyle's familiar voicemail asking the caller to leave a message. He'd already tried to call twice, and each time the calls had gone to voicemail after ringing incessantly. Something about the whole thing didn't feel right but he couldn't put his finger on it.

He'd managed to take a short break but he knew he didn't have much time to linger. The theater was packed, the lines at least ten people deep at the concessions, and his manager was seriously on his ass, but still -

"You almost done out here?" Kenny asked, wandering outside to smoke a cigarette, his theater uniform looking less than pristine. "Want one?" He asked, holding out the pack.

"No, thanks," Stan replied, waving it away. Glancing at his phone, he redialed Kyle's number, his hands shaking slightly for a reason he couldn't name. Holding the phone to his ear, the same rings went on for what felt like an eternity, and then Kyle's voicemail - again.

"Goddammit!" He yelled, wanting to hurl the phone against a brick wall.

"Dude, what's wrong?" Kenny asked, taking a deep drag and blowing some smoke from the corner of his mouth. He'd only been working at the theater for a couple of weeks but he was already disillusioned by the gig, needing several cigarettes to help him get through his shifts. "You look like you're about to lose it."

"I am," Stan snapped, running a hand through his hair. Something was _wrong_ here. Wrong. He just knew it. "Kyle isn't answering his phone."

Kenny shrugged and took another long pull on his cigarette, sucking it nearly down to the filter. He glanced at Stan with calm blue eyes; clearly, he wasn't willing to start panicking without just cause.

"Maybe he's still asleep," he said. "You know how Kyle likes to sleep in on the weekends."

Stan checked the time and cocked an eyebrow; he held up the phone for Kenny to see.

"It's fucking 3 in the afternoon, Kenny. Kyle doesn't sleep in _that_ long. And he hasn't answered any of my texts."

Kenny thought for a moment, stubbing out his spent cigarette and his face finally registering faint worry.

"That isn't like him," he said, brow furrowed. "He usually responds right away, doesn't he?"

Stan nodded, scrolling through his texts; becoming more worried with every passing second.

"I sent him a good night text around...11 last night," he said. "He never responded, which is also bizarre, because he told me he fucking loves my stupid good night texts. He gets mad if I don't send one."

"Naturally," Kenny replied, rolling his eyes but his face full of sudden fondness. "Maybe there's something wrong with his phone, or his mom is making him do a bunch of chores and took his phone away? You know how she is, dude."

"I guess so, but still," Stan replied, calling Kyle's phone again. "I just have a weird feeling, and all this shit with Mark just makes me -"

He paused and groaned, putting his phone on speaker:

_"Hi, this is Kyle. I can't make it to the phone right now, but -"_

He ended the call and looked at Kenny with worried eyes, his mind filling up with awful, horrible possibilities. He knew he could be overreacting, was probably blowing the situation out of proportion, but he couldn't help it. Kyle had been through so much that year already, and he'd promised to protect him; to keep him safe.

"Kenny, I'm seriously worried, okay?" He murmured, allowing himself to sound vulnerable. "I worry about Kyle all the time now. I can't help it."

"I don't blame you," Kenny replied grimly. "I mean, I don't even know a fraction of what's happened, but it sounds like you have good reason to be concerned."

Suddenly, their red-faced manager appeared at the door, peering out into the alley where the employees typically took their smoke breaks. He raised his eyebrows, arms akimbo.

"Would you two ladies like to come back in here and grace us with your presence?" He barked, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. "We're getting killed in here and theater 4 needs to be cleaned. Marsh, McCormick! Let's go!"

"Look, as soon as we get out of here, we'll go over to Kyle's house. Okay?" Kenny asked, flicking his cigarette away and placing a hand on Stan's shoulder, squeezing softly.

"Right, sure," Stan replied, glancing at their harried manager and sighing a little. Turning, they made their way to the door while Stan slowly slid his phone back into his pocket, worry dogging his every step.

*******

It wasn't until hours later that Stan and Kenny were able to break away from the theater, Stan finally having had enough and practically getting in their manager's face; stating there was an emergency and he'd already done him a favor and was leaving.

"Dude, you really put him in his place," Kenny chuckled as they headed over to Kyle's, the snow falling steadily all around them. The grass and streets were already all but covered, the world deluged in white; heavy clouds filling up the sky and blotting out the stars. "That was awesome, man."

"I'd already worked like six extra hours for that asshole," Stan replied, hands jammed in his coat pockets as he picked up his pace. "Enough was enough, you know? Besides, I couldn't stay another second. I tried calling Kyle a couple more times and he still hasn't picked up."

"Okay, now I'm starting to worry too," Kenny said, falling into step beside Stan as they practically broke into a sprint. "You don't think something happened, do you? With Mark?"

"Of course I think something happened," Stan replied, worry and exertion putting a hitch in his voice as they rounded the corner onto Kyle's street. "I knew that crazy fucker was just waiting for his chance...I don't know what he was planning, but I wouldn't put anything past him at this point."

Coming up to Kyle's house, Stan was dismayed to see all of the lights off and the cars gone; the house essentially appearing deserted in the midst of snowfall and silence. Frantically, he rushed up to the front door and pounded on it anyway, Kenny hanging back to watch him. He knocked for several minutes, his hand beginning to ache as his fears grew exponentially. Finally, Kenny came up behind him and laid a hand on his back.

"Dude, no one's home," Kenny murmured, gently. "Kyle isn't here."

Stan turned to face him, hateful tears burning in the corners of his eyes as he tried to stay calm. It was a losing battle, though.

"Why did I let him leave last night?" He whispered, a tear breaking through and streaking down his face. "I should've made him stay with me, Kenny. I should've fucking walked him home!"

Kenny looked at Stan with pity and sadness, his hand still resting on his back and keeping him weighted to the earth, when really he just wanted to disappear. He'd promised Kyle that he'd keep him safe, that he'd keep him close and protected, but he'd failed....he'd failed....

"We still don't know what happened," Kenny said, softly. He looked up at the house, errant flakes of snow catching in his hair and sparkling softly in the glow of faraway streetlamps. "Don't jump to conclusions, okay? Kyle could still be just fine. We don't know."

Angrily, Stan scrubbed the tears away from his eyes and looked back at the house as well, hating how silent it was; so still. Sudden rage mixed in with his fear and sadness, and all at once he could vividly imagine beating Mark to death with his bare hands; it was the least that he deserved.

"You're right," he finally said, turning from Kenny and beginning to stalk away. "We don't know. I never know anything about my own goddamn boyfriend...not after that fucking monster showed up and ruined everything. God, Kenny, he's _still_ ruining everything and he hasn't had to answer for one fucking thing he's done!"

Kenny was silent for awhile as they walked down the sidewalk, Stan barely able to focus on where they were going. His mind was overrun with too many things at once, but at the forefront of it all was Kyle's face, his green eyes that had steadily lost their light as Mark continued to destroy him. Stan could barely make sense of it, really. Mark hadn't touched Kyle in so long, hadn't even really spoken to him, but he was still able to keep Kyle on an invisible leash, trembling and afraid and just breaking apart. He almost felt like he wouldn't have any of Kyle left if they couldn't manage to get away from Mark once and for all.

"Mark's the type of person that doesn't deal in consequences, Stan," Kenny finally said, lapsing into his serious, pensive way of speaking. "He's never had to, has he? He's smart, he's attractive, he's rich," he snorted a little. "He's manipulative as fuck, but that's not even the worst part of his personality, honestly."

"What do you mean?" Stan asked, glancing at him while trying to push thoughts of Kyle's face away; the image only serving to destroy him.

"He doesn't care if his actions hurt other people," Kenny said, sighing. "I'm pretty sure what Kyle wants isn't even on Mark's radar, and even if it was he'd still find a way to twist it to suit his needs. What's worse is that Mark operates under the assumption that the worlds owes him whatever he wants, whatever he feels he deserves."

"I can see that," Stan murmured, Kenny's words only serving to reinforce his horrible fear. "So, that means -"

"He isn't going to stop, dude. Ever," Kenny said, nodding his head. "Unless someone actively puts an end to all of this."

Stan stopped, slight understanding leaking into his head at Kenny's words, but still feeling terribly lost. In fact, he'd felt lost for the past year, like he was wandering around in the dark and trying to make sense of his new reality with booze and clinging to Kyle whenever he could; desperately attempting to stay afloat. Nothing seemed to make _sense_ anymore.

"What are you saying?"

Kenny just shrugged and pulled a lighter from his pocket, flicking it on; the steady flame glowed in the murk of the night, darkness converging in like a tide. All at once, he blew it out, drenching his face in shadow again.

"What did Charlie Chaplin say?" He asked, tucking the lighter away. "'This is a ruthless world and one must be ruthless to cope with it?"'

He glanced at Stan and grinned, the snowfall seeming to pick up all at once.

"You've played nice for too long, Stan. If you want to save Kyle from this prick, you're going to have to get down into the trenches with him. After all, you can't win a war without getting some blood on your hands, right?"

"I guess you're right," Stan murmured, continuing to walk again, Kenny's words sinking into his brain and almost serving to rewire it. He knew what his friend was saying was true, but it was all so final, so staggering. "I should've stepped up long before this, man. I feel like I've been on the sidelines through this entire thing, and I've just allowed it to happen." He smirked but it was completely devoid of humor.

"In a lot of ways I feel like I'm just as bad as Mark, you know? Like I succumbed to the bystander effect or something."

"You know that isn't true," Kenny said. "We both know how Kyle is, dude. He probably kept you in the dark the whole time, thinking he could handle things on his own, and once they became too big for him to keep a secret, he still made it so your hands were tied. Am I right?"

"When did you get so fucking smart?" Stan asked, finally managing an actual smile.

Kenny shrugged, brushing away snow from his shaggy hair.

"It's not like you're the only one who's been watching this whole shit show unfold, Stan. Besides, Kyle's as stubborn as they come. Of course he'd think he could take care of all this on his own, even if it meant putting up with a sadistic sociopath like Mark. Well, we just have to take the option away from him. We're helping him no matter what."

They were coming upon Stan's house now, the windows illuminated against the chill and appearing full of life. It made Stan feel better just to see it. He paused at the end of the walkway to the front door.

"We still don't know if Kyle is actually with Mark," he said, glancing at Kenny. "And even if he is, that fucker's house is like a fortress, man. There's a gate and this huge wall. I have no fucking clue how to get inside."

"We'll figure out a way," Kenny replied. "Even if we have to steal your mom's car and just plow the fucking gates down."

Stan snorted.

"Yeah, because that'll go over really well." He became quiet as he fished his key out of his pocket and unlocked the front door, pushing it open. Stopping, he turned to Kenny. "But if it comes to that, I'm totally down."

"That's what I thought," Kenny laughed, closing the door behind them; the living room filled with light and the TV playing softly. Mrs. Marsh came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel; she smiled to see Kenny.

"Kenny, it's been forever since you came over! Did you want some hot chocolate?"

"That'd be great, Mrs. Marsh," Kenny replied, rubbing the back of his neck and flushing slightly. He was always slightly bashful around parents.

"Come on into the kitchen, boys," she said, turning away.

When they entered the warm room, fragrant with the scent of cookies baking and Mrs. Marsh bustling around, Stan almost wanted to cry. If Kyle was indeed with Mark as he feared, he could only imagine what he was going through, and here he was in his safe house, his mother preparing to make piping hot cocoa. It just wasn't fucking fair.

"Stan? Are you okay?" Mrs. Marsh asked, putting a saucepan on the stove. "You look kind of down. Hard day at work?"

"No, not really, mom," Stan said, sitting heavily on a chair and brushing a hand through his snow-slicked hair.

She glanced at him, a little knowing smile on her lips.

"Stanley, Kyle will be home before too long, okay? Is that what's got you so down?"

Stan and Kenny snapped their focus to his mother immediately, eyes wide.

"What are you talking about, mom? Where's Kyle?" Stan asked, clenching his hands on the table.

"I mean, Sheila mentioned the family going to a relative's house out of town today," she said, pouring milk into the saucepan. "I think she said they'd be home late, or maybe tomorrow morning? I can't really remember; she told me about this awhile ago." She peered at her son. "What, Kyle didn't mention it to you?"

"N-no, he didn't," Stan replied, glancing at Kenny with confusion; he looked equally as perplexed. "He didn't say anything about that."

"Hmm, that's odd, but," she said, opening the Hershey's cocoa and preparing to dump it into the steaming milk, "I'm sure he just forgot, right? From what I understand, Kyle's been pretty forgetful lately. Is he okay?"

Stan just stared at Kenny, unable to make heads or tails of this bit of information. Kenny could only shrug, openly confused but also appearing slightly relieved.

"He's fine, mom," he said, sitting back and pulling his phone from his pocket. Quickly, he redialed Kyle's number, held the phone to his ear, and after a few moments looked at Kenny and shook his head.

"At least I hope he is," Stan murmured, nearly drowning in worry now.

*******

Kyle woke up completely naked in Mark's large bed, disoriented and body alive with aches and residual weariness. It took him a moment to realize he was alone, and it took him even longer to figure out that he wasn't chained to the bedpost; his ankle free of the awful manacle. Vaguely he could recall being fucked in the bathtub, Mark's large hand sliding over his carved-up backside, his breath hot on Kyle's neck as he sank into fog and whirling confusion, his entire body giving in as his mind dissolved in flames.

"What did he do to me?" He asked, sitting up slowly and wincing at the throbs emanating through his flesh; flesh that didn't even feel like it belonged to him anymore. No part of his body was his anymore, Mark having claimed every inch for himself. "I looked into his eyes and suddenly I felt so...so..."

Kyle shook his head and slowly draped his legs over the edge of the bed, looking around frantically for any sign of Mark; trying to pick up on his presence. The atmosphere in the room felt empty, bereft of Mark's oppressive darkness, and all at once Kyle could breathe a little easier. Sinister little voices were waking up in his brain now and telling him to stay still, to behave, that Mark wanted him to stay in this bed, waiting; he pushed them away.

Kyle stood on shaky legs, feet aching as they pressed into the carpet. For a moment he didn't think he'd be able to stay up, but he managed; eyes skirting around the room in wild animal pulses. He almost felt like a deer moving slowly through the forest, always in the sights of the hunter waiting in the bushes. All at once, his mind was flooded with the memories of Mark's pulverized face knitting itself back together, watching Kyle with his one good eye before he'd been captured and taken on the floor of the trophy room.

"That should've killed him, or at the very least made him pass out, blinded him," he said, looking around for something to wear. Naturally, his clothes and shoes were nowhere to be seen, and his phone was probably laying in pieces somewhere; destroyed. He spotted the long white shirt he'd been wearing before and almost cringing, he picked it up and slid it over his head. The whole time, he kept seeing Mark's flesh healing itself as the blood flowed, still unable to make sense of what he'd seen. How could he? Nothing made sense anymore.

Not bothering to look for more clothing or anything really, Kyle swiftly made his way to the door and tried the knob, almost sobbing with relief when it turned easily and the door opened. Ignoring the pains radiating through his bones, his very blood, Kyle passed into the hallway and stole down it, coming to the top of the stairs and frantically looking around.

_This doesn't make sense,_ he thought, fear threatening to make him collapse in a trembling heap. _Why would he leave me alone like this, and not chained up?_

Kyle glanced around the massive house, gentle darkness flooding its corridors where the small automatic lights couldn't pass through. The windows were dark and he knew, somehow, that it was very late at night; the snow continuing to fall in heavy sheets. The quiet almost became a live being, pressing against his skin and ears, almost taking on shape and form; growing too large to ignore. Tremors were moving through him now, being alone in the desolate house, Mark nowhere in sight, but he had to keep going. If he'd been given the opportunity to escape he wasn't going to waste it, that was for sure.

But still, oddly, there was a part of his mind that wanted him to stay, to submit, almost like a dark fire burning of its own accord; smoldering and destroying the truth. He could recall falling into a fire earlier, when Mark had looked into his eyes something had been severed; changed. At that moment, he hadn't felt like himself, and he could recall Mark pulling him into an embrace and kissing his lips before spiriting him away to the bathroom where they'd -

"No. I've had enough. I'm leaving," he said, trying to assume strength that just didn't exist in him anymore. Kyle didn't want to dwell on the hot bathwater burning his skin as Mark set him on fire; their bodies fused together as he spoke words of love, of utter, undying obsession.

Gripping the banister, Kyle started to descend the lavish staircase, taking care not to trip and fall on pain-filled legs, his whole body becoming watery as fatigue, terror, and agony converged on him; his hand straying momentarily to the words cut into his backside. He winced, biting his lip. He'd been branded, marked, and he knew that even after the wound had healed, a scar would remain; the scars would always remain, on his skin and in his heart, his spirit.

_If I can just get to Stan, I'll be okay. Everything will be okay as long as I'm with him._

This thought almost became a mantra as Kyle came to the bottom of the stairs and started across the sea of oriental carpet, its rough fibers scraping against his bare feet. He wasn't sure if it was true, but he just knew that being with Stan would at least provide a modicum of comfort; being in his arms and getting lost in his kisses.

_I should've stayed with him_ , he thought, choking back a sob. _I never should've left his side._

A thought almost made him take pause, though he forced himself to keep moving, coming closer and closer to the front door.

_Does he know where I am? He has to, right? Mark took my phone and Stan isn't stupid, he had to have figured out -_

This thought died in his mind when Kyle opened the front door and it swung open to reveal Mark, standing on the stoop and smoking a cigarette; clad in his black, fitted jacket and jeans, wavy hair sugared by falling snow. He turned and when he saw Kyle he smiled slightly, strange eyes radiating a scarlet throb in the dark, snow-covered night.

"I was hoping you'd wake up soon and find me," he murmured, taking one last drag and flicking the cigarette away. Slowly, he came over and caught Kyle before he could move away, cold hands lingering on his hips and tugging him close.

"How did you sleep?" He asked, kissing Kyle's temple and breathing in his scent. "You crashed almost as soon as we got out of the bath. I was kind of disappointed, but," he paused, one hand brushing over Kyle's new, throbbing brand. "We have plenty of time, don't we?"

Repulsion flared in Kyle's mind and he tried to push away, knowing it wasn't any use but still wanting to try and fight.

"I wasn't trying to find you," he muttered, teeth gritted as frustrated tears threatened his eyes.

"You can say that, but I know you don't mean it," Mark said, smoothly. He pulled back to gaze into Kyle's terror-filled eyes, the red sheen coming alive like heartbeats throbbing. Kyle could feel himself slackening again but he quickly shut his eyes, shaking his head.

"No!" He screamed, continuing to push against Mark. "Stop! Just stop!"

"You weren't telling me to stop when we were in the bath, Kyle," Mark breathed, dropping more kisses along Kyle's jawline and down to his throat. "In fact, you said you were mine. Do you remember?"

"You fucked with my head!" Kyle yelled, eyes still closed and body thrashing. "You're a monster now! I know you can manipulate my thoughts! Just stop, Mark! I don't want you! I hate you! I fucking hate you!"

All at once, Kyle could feel a strong hand smacking his cheek and he was falling to the floor, sobbing and rubbing at his face; blood dripping from his nose and mouth. Breathing heavily, he gazed up at Mark through the tears collecting in his eyes. Mark just stood and stared at him, face impassive as his savage, monster's eyes flitted through several shades of red.

"I don't appreciate your tone, Kyle," he said, calmly. "And here I thought you were finally ready to obey. Pity."

Kyle managed to get onto his knees, hand still pressed to his face and catching the blood sliding down his skin. Raw rage broke through him like a tidal wave, and he was suddenly just so tired of _everything;_ of Mark, of being beaten, of being afraid.

"I'll never fucking obey!" He yelled, managing to stand but almost falling, legs shaky and body wrecked. "I'm not a dog! I'm a person, and I deserve some say over what happens in my life! I _do_ hate you, Mark! More than anything in this entire goddamn world. **I FUCKING HATE YOU**!"

Trembling, he stared at his captor, his nemesis, with caustic, unyielding loathing, every fiber of his body wanting him to lunge forward and slit Mark's throat.

"You can fucking get in my head and mess with my thoughts but that won't change the truth, Mark," he seethed. "I'll never love you again, and I sure as fuck don't want to be with you. I want to be with Stan! I love Stan! You can fool yourself into thinking otherwise, but we both know I'm only here because you're keeping me prisoner, you sick, sadistic FUCK! I wish you'd just fucking DIE already!"

Mark just laughed, seemingly amused by Kyle's impassioned outcry. Reaching into his pocket, he produced Kyle's leash, automatically filling him with deep dread; fear close on the heels of his unconcealed fury.

"And who's going to kill me, huh? Stan? Your knight in shining armor?" He asked, walking forward and easily catching Kyle before he could run away. Smoothly, he attached the leash to Kyle's collar, yanking on it and making Kyle fall to his hands and knees, whimpering slightly. Mark yanked on it smartly, urging Kyle forward; forced to crawl.

"Come," he said. "I've prepared something for us. You must be hungry."

"N-no! Stop!" Kyle said, gritting his teeth as he fought the leash. Like a feisty animal he strained against his constraints, until Mark won the struggle and he found himself being led into the large dining room, the murals spanning the walls of the unicorn being pursued and captured by hunters and onlookers. Looking around, Kyle was suddenly terrified of the images, knowing exactly how it felt to have your fate and choices stolen away without a word.

"Believe me, the symbolism isn't lost on me either," Mark smirked, studying the walls and rolling his eyes. "These stupid paintings actually amuse me now, where before I couldn't stand them. They're so pointless, aren't they? Just like you trying to get away from me, Kyle. This is where you belong. Accept it."

Mark yanked Kyle up on his knees and pointed toward the table, which was laid with glowing candelabras and a variety of snacks: cheese and crackers, wine, bread, fruit.

"All for you, love. If you cooperate," he added, smiling and kissing Kyle's head; one hand straying through his curls. "Now, sit, like a good boy." He pulled on the leash again and smiled to see Kyle sitting compliantly in a chair, hands clasped in his lap even as he continued to tremble.

Mark went to sit in the chair beside him, still holding the leash and looping it around his hand. The room was dim save for the candlelight flickering, throwing shadows and orange light across the murals and the table of food; getting caught in the white wine and making it glow like liquid fire. He poured some into Kyle's glass and slid it over, along with a plate loaded with treats.

"Eat," he said, simply, taking a sip of his own glass of wine. "You look like you're about to waste away."

"Why are you doing this?" Kyle whispered, tears falling to mix with the blood still dripping from his nose and mouth. He looked down at the table, everything awash in tears and becoming a watercolor mess. "What are you trying to accomplish, Mark? Do you just expect this to go on indefinitely?"

Mark glanced up, a slight frown flitting across his mouth. He thought a moment while taking another long drink of wine. Finally, he finished, settling the glass on the table.

"I do, actually," he murmured, resting his face in his hand and gazing at Kyle with eyes awash in candlelight; still registering crimson flickers occasionally. "I want you to be by my side for the rest of our lives, Kyle. I love you." He picked up his glass again and toyed with it, swirling the wine a little. "I can take care of you better than anyone else. I come from money, Kyle, and I'm set to inherit more, along with this house." He looked around, face impassive as he studied the murals.

"I can make it so you'll always have everything you could ever need," he added. "You just have to fall in line. That's all I ask."

Kyle cleared the tears from his eyes, complete hopelessness putting out the fire of his earlier rage. He knew going down this path had been a mistake, that Mark lived in a reality of his own creation, but still, how could he ever think that this situation was sustainable?

"What I need," he repeated, softly; shaking his head. "But not what I want. You can't give me what I want, Mark."

"And what is that?" Mark sneered, already acting like he knew the answer.

"My freedom," Kyle said, a tiny sob breaking up his words. "Freedom from fear, Mark. Freedom to make my own choices, be my own person. Why can't you understand that?"

"I do understand," Mark replied, setting his wine glass down with a tiny clunk. "And you know what I hear between your words? You say you want your freedom but really, you want Stan. You've always wanted Stan. He's the one who makes you want to escape, to leave me. Isn't that right?"

"No!" Kyle yelled, standing up and knocking his chair back; straining against Mark's tight hold on his leash. "You're evil, Mark, and abusive! You're controlling and cruel and just so," he paused, hardly able to piece together the words to describe Mark's monstrous persona. "Being with you is like being in the dark all the time, Mark! Even if I didn't love Stan I still wouldn't want to be with you! You don't care about me like I'm a person. I'm just something you took an interest in and now I'm like a fucking ornament or something...something for you to keep on the shelf and pull down to play with when you're in the mood. You're horrible!"

"You don't care about making me happy," he continued, sobbing now and pressing his face in his hands. "You've never cared about that, it's always been about what you want...you don't love me. You don't love anyone; you aren't even capable of it." Kyle could barely speak now, the tears coming hot and fast and stealing his voice. Thoughts of Stan and being in his bed the last time, being held close and cherished, only served to make his agony that much worse; it's almost like he was remembering their very last dance, the boy he loved pulled from his arms and obliterated.

"I'd rather be dead than be here with you," Kyle said, pulling his hands away and letting the tears fall down his cheeks; not bothering to clear them away.

"Maybe that can be arranged," Mark replied, surprising Kyle completely. He rose from his place, coming around the table; the leash still tight in his hand. "After all, you fight me at every turn, every step of the way." He gripped Kyle's shoulders and looked into his eyes, smirking a little when Kyle didn't bother to turn away; nearly collapsing in Mark's hands.

"Or," he murmured, continuing to study Kyle with his hellish gaze. "I can just destroy whatever part of you is still fighting me, Kyle. I have that ability now, and I thought I'd already managed to do it, but," he shrugged, "it seems I wasn't altogether successful."

"Not at all, pet," another voice spoke up, startling Kyle but not Mark, who remained still and calm as he gripped Kyle's flesh. Turning, Kyle saw a horribly familiar entity, sitting in a chair and sipping their own glass of wine.

"Damien," he whispered, eyes widening with fear as he tried to back away involuntarily; his body besieged with the need to take flight immediately.

"Lamb," the demon replied, his dark voice full of night-wings and teeth; claws ripping apart innocent flesh. "It's been awhile, hasn't it? How do you like my latest creation?" He pointed to Mark, a knowing smile on his thin lips.

Kyle glanced at Mark, who was regarding Damien with an impassive expression.

"W-what did you do to him?" He asked. "Why did you help him?"

"I crave entertainment just like anyone else," Damien replied, drinking deeply of the white wine. "And Mark has always provided a limitless supply. Don't you think? But now, now we're coming to the end of the road, aren't we?"

"I'd say so," Mark replied, pulling Kyle's focus back to him.

"He's fighting you, pet," Damien commented, a smile in his voice; amusement lancing through like a hot knife. "Tooth and nail, I'd say. Every part of his _soul_ is rejecting you, which honestly doesn't surprise me."

"Shut up, jackal," Mark snapped. "I'll handle this."

"I'm sure you will," Damien replied. "I mean, you better, it's not like you have much to barter with at this point. Does the lamb know what you've sacrificed for _love?"_ He spoke the word with complete disdain.

"No, and he doesn't need to," Mark growled, his grip on Kyle's arms tightening until he cried out. Reaching up, he took a hold of Kyle's face and forced him to meet his gaze, and Kyle was so afraid and tired that he didn't even have the wherewithal to fight anymore.

"Just give in," he murmured, almost sounding unbearably sad and lost. "Just give yourself to me once and for all. Okay?"

"M-Mark, what," Kyle said, falling into Mark's eyes and floundering, a dark and strange sea pouring into his veins and head; swallowing him whole. "What did you do? Why -"

"Shh," Mark soothed him, his eyes becoming chasms filled with fire. "Just relax and let me take you away. Let me keep you forever, Kyle. I love you."

"God, there's that word again," Damien sighed. He sniffed the air. "He's falling, pet. Push him over the edge."

"I don't fucking answer to you anymore," Mark replied, grabbing Kyle and holding him up when he collapsed in his arms; his mind awash in the red fog again. "I don't answer to anyone."

"That's what you think," Damien replied, watching as Mark kissed Kyle's silenced mouth, barely able to comprehend what was happening anymore. Slowly, Mark turned Kyle away and leaned him over the table, nudging his legs apart with his thigh; holding the leash taut as the boy draped himself against the wood. He moaned softly but didn't fight at all as Mark traced the letters cut into his flesh.

"I think you've finally gotten to him," the demon commented. "Do you feel it?"

"I will soon," Mark breathed, opening his jeans and pulling out his cock; already hard and full of bloodthirsty need. Slowly, he began pushing into Kyle, who clenched his hands as his mouth opened against the pain, no sound spilling from between his lips. The candlelight shivered as he began to thrust, and its sharp glow cut into Kyle's eyes, making him look away. He gasped to meet Damien's gaze, whose own blood red eyes were devouring him just as surely as Mark was.

"Beautiful," Damien purred, crossing his legs and watching as Mark took Kyle there, right on the table as the unicorn leapt across the walls; ultimately trapped and bent to the will of man. "Have your fun while you still can, pet," he added, softly. "All good things must come to an end, don't they?"

*******

Stan tore awake with a shout, gasping and clawing at the blankets, a nightmare lingering in the vestibule of his brain; quickly retreating.

"Kyle, Kyle," he choked out, clutching at his head with trembling hands; mind awash in residual terrors. He'd seen the boy in his dreams, blood red hair so pretty and bright but his green eyes gouged out, weeping trails of carmine. Stan had run to him, to help him, but he couldn't reach him no matter what he did, sightless eyes lost forever.

Stan had also seen red eyes waiting in the darkness encroaching on the edges of the dream, had heard a dark, almost musical voice laughing the whole time. The nightmare had been fleeting, but it felt like it had gone on for years, would continue to do so if he didn't _do_ something. Fighting away a headache that was building into a hectic crescendo, Stan got out of bed and almost went to the bottom drawer, where the bottle was waiting for him. He'd had a nip before going to bed, after Kenny had left, and he wanted another so badly he was practically shaking.

Something just didn't sit right with him, hadn't sat right for the entire day. There was a feeling in his blood, in his core, where the sleeping beast hell-bent on protecting Kyle waited, that told him, no, _assured_ him, that Kyle was not at a relative's house. He was with Mark, he had to be, most likely being held against his will and suffering. Stan hated himself for managing to sleep while Kyle was probably crying out for him, begging for him to come save him. All at once, he couldn't wait in his room another moment, couldn't even conceive of crawling back into his cold, empty bed; not until Kyle was there lying beside him. Only then would Stan be able to rest comfortably, the nightmares conquered as he held Kyle safely in his arms.

Hurriedly, he dressed and threw on his coat, slipping his shoes on before tearing out of his room and down the stairs. He ran through the front door and into the snow-drenched streets, nearly slipping on ice but righting himself immediately. Before he knew it, Stan found himself back at Kyle's house, and he was so relieved to see a light in the upstairs window that he almost fell to his knees; practically shaking.

"Kyle," he whispered, almost going to the front door and ringing the bell. He stopped, knowing that wouldn't go over so well with Kyle's parents. He also considered trying Kyle's phone again, but he didn't want to devote precious, fleeting seconds to that; he knew he wouldn't pick up. He couldn't say how he knew, he just did, all of his instincts kicking into overdrive.

Instead, he rounded the house and stopped beneath Kyle's window, searching for tiny stones in the snow-covered grass. Finding one, he took a deep breath and lobbed it at the glass, eliciting a tiny tinkling sound in the cold night. When nothing happened, he found another stone and threw it at the window as well. Stan waited with baited breath, his blood churning in his ears, but still nothing happened; no movement passing behind the window. In frustration, he turned away and was halfway across the street on his way to Kenny's when he heard a door open and close faintly.

"Stan! Wait!"

Turning, he was astounded to see Ike running up the walkway, clutching a jacket around his shoulders; brown eyes wide with concern.

"Ike," he said, stopping and walking toward the small boy, quickly looking around to make sure the sound of the door hadn't aroused Kyle's parents' notice. Thankfully, the house remained silent, the entire street deluged in quiet repose and piles of snow. "Ike, what are you doing? Is Kyle here? Did he go with you guys to -"

"No," Ike gasped, out of breath from running. "No, Stan, Kyle didn't go with us to Uncle Murray's, he -"

"Where is he?!" Stan asked frantically, taking a hold of Ike's shoulders. "Tell me!"

Ike almost looked like he was going to cry, but he remained composed, though his eyes were full of questions and fear.

"That weird guy came over, and Kyle went with him," he said. "I thought I heard him crying, Stan, so I went to his door but Mark -"

"Mark," Stan repeated, all of his worst fears and agonies coming true at once; washing against him like a tidal wave. He let go of Ike's shoulders and ran his hands through his hair, nearly tearing it out. "Fuck! This can't be happening!"

"He told me something, Stan," Ike said, quietly, clearly trying to keep a level head as Stan lost his. "I didn't really understand at the time, and I still don't, but maybe you will."

"What? What did he tell you?!" Stan pleaded, hating the tears cropping up in his voice.

"It was just some numbers," Ike replied. "24601, and then he said something about a key in his top drawer. Just, '24601, key top drawer.'" He shrugged. "Like I said, it didn't make a lot of sense, but," he pulled something out of his jacket pocket, holding it up; a large silver key.

"I went into his top drawer and found that. Here," he said, handing it over; Stan staring at it as it lay across his open, trembling palm. "I don't know what the key is to, and I have no idea what the numbers mean either. I was hoping you would know."

Suddenly, Stan clutched the key and almost wanted to scream with elation, everything clicking into place in his brain at dizzying speed.

"The pass code," he whispered, loving Kyle all the more for his forward thinking. "It's the pass code to Mark's front gate, and this," he held up the key, and the streetlights caught its silver brilliance.

"This is the key to the front door of Mark's house."


	49. Final Trial: Mark/Kyle/Stan's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: sexual violence/rape - read at your own discretion.
> 
> Hey, you guys! It's been a month of Sundays since I updated this fic and for that I'm sincerely sorry. I tend to avoid writing certain stories when I'm lacking inspiration bc I want to give them my all, you know? I hate the idea of uploading bullshit especially when there are people out there cool enough to actually read all of this...you guys deserve better than that. Anyway, this chapter probably blows but I *tried* so forgive me, okay?
> 
> We're seriously winding down at this point (this time I mean it) - be strong, boys. Love conquers all! 
> 
> ENJOY! <3
> 
> PS: hopefully someone's still reading this, lol. If you are, thanks for putting up with me! :D
> 
> PPS: not that anyone cares, but the song I quote at the beginning was seriously the driving force behind this entire chapter - i had to listen to it on repeat to keep going, lol. xD https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5VosNt1rP1iGARhVZRBmcV

**I don’t believe in the truth anymore**  
**Don’t even know what we keep fighting for**  
**I used to think there was light at the end**  
**But it’s dark and I won’t pretend**  
**And my soul it goes cold**

 **I won’t repeat my mistakes anymore**  
**‘Cause now I know what we keep fighting for**  
**Wanna believe there is light at the end**  
**Yeah I know and I won’t pretend**  
**This is love that I must defend**

 **Take your stand never run away**  
**Open up let your heart lead the way**

**\- Is This Love? Monkey Majik**

* * *

 The snow continued to swirl and settle in sugary sheets, covering everything; deluging the world.

Kyle looked up from the snow globe clutched in his hands to regard the windows, and outside, in the real world, the snow kept falling as well. Dawn was mere hours away and the darkness was at its zenith, but he could barely focus on anything for too long. His mind was wrapped up in fog, and all he could settle on was the globe in his hands and the feeling of a brush being pulled through his curls.

"I used to do this for Becky every night before bed," Mark murmured from behind him, his touch gentle as he brushed Kyle's hair. "It always helped her sleep."

"Hmm," Kyle said, because he couldn't think of anything else to say. It was as if his words had been stolen from him, along with his thoughts. Something was missing now; had been missing since Mark had taken him against his will in the dining room. Kyle could vaguely recall wanting to fight, to escape, but now all he could do was drift. He was wandering through a forest filled with red mist, and he couldn't conjure up the rage he was sure he'd felt before. Lifting the globe, he tipped it over yet again, becoming giddy when the snow gathered on the top.

"You really like that thing, don't you?" Mark asked, dragging the brush through Kyle's moist hair once more. He'd bathed him tenderly after the episode in the dining room; had washed away the blood, sweat, tears, and semen. Kyle had been left feeling renewed but blank, and now they were sitting in Mark's night-darkened room on his large bed.

Kyle nodded, nearly overcome with delight when he righted the globe and watched as the snow wafted through the water; shot through with silvery pieces of glitter. The snow inside of the fake world was so much prettier than the snow falling outside; it didn't feel as sinister. The snow outside only served to trap him inside of Mark's castle, but this notion seemed oddly acceptable now. Maybe he was exactly where he belonged?

"You're being so quiet, love." Suddenly, Kyle could feel the brush being pulled through his curls and taken away, and then Mark's warm lips were settling on the nape of his neck. He shivered and closed his eyes, blotting out the dark room, the pretty globe disappearing. Stan's face swam before him momentarily, but it was quickly taken away; snatched back into the foggiest places inside of his mind.

"I don't have anything to say," he said, keeping his eyes closed. "I feel empty."

Mark chuckled lightly, his lips still ghosting over the back of Kyle's neck. He wrapped his arms around him, pulling him back against his chest; holding him softly.

"You aren't empty, baby. I just took care of the parts of you that were confused. Now you're actually thinking clearly; you know where you belong."

"Here?" Kyle asked, uncertainly. He was struggling to understand, to comprehend what he was hearing; feeling. Why was everything so hazy?

"Yes, with me," Mark sighed, sounding so happy and content. "Forever."

"What about Rebecca? Don't you already have her?" Kyle opened his eyes, surprised at how childish and unsure he sounded. Exhaustion crept through him as he settled against Mark, feeling for his warmth and finding it; it began to lull him.

"Now I have both of you," Mark replied, nuzzling his face against Kyle's hair. "We can all be happy together, just as long as you obey. Just like this...this is perfect."

Gazing down at the snow globe, Kyle tried to understand, but he was so tired, so lost. It was almost like he was wandering through the snow swirling through the clear waters. He shook it, watching the snow circling as the blizzard within engulfed the cabin and trees. He shifted on the bed slightly, causing a tremor of pain to course through him; aches radiating from his backside where the letters were cut into his skin. He could feel himself stiffening in Mark's arms, and before he could stop himself he whimpered.

"Poor baby," Mark said, stroking a hand over Kyle's aching flesh; one finger tracing each letter in turn. "Do you hurt?"

Kyle nodded, biting his lip as he felt his brand being caressed. He tried to focus on the globe, tipping it again.

"Why don't you try to eat something? Hmm?" Pulling away, Mark lifted a plate of cake from the nightstand. Kyle eyed it with distaste, not having any appetite at all. He shook his head.

"You'll eat," Mark said, standing and coming to sit in front of Kyle so they were face to face. "I know what's best for you."

He snapped the lamp on, the sudden golden light illuminating the globe's surface and making it glow. Kyle blinked his eyes a few times, attempting to adjust; could feel his pupils constricting. Mark's hair gleamed richly as he lifted the fork and stabbed a piece of the dessert, and Kyle recognized it as the cake from the night before; white and studded with glazed fruit.

It wasn't long before the bit of confection was being offered to Kyle, the fork dangling right before his lips, but he still didn't want it. He wasn't hungry, not at all, but when he opened his mouth to protest he looked into Mark's eyes again, and he felt himself falling. The red fog was strongest whenever he became trapped in Mark's gaze, and before he knew it the blankness was stealing his voice. Instead, he opened his mouth to accept the food he didn't want, chewing obediently once the cake was place on his tongue; sugar waking up his taste buds to an almost painful extent.

"See? Isn't that better?" Mark asked, watching with an expression of extreme indulgence. He just looked so pleased with himself; so content. He grinned, flashing white, perfect teeth; sharp canines glinting. "Isn't it better when you don't fight me, Kyle? I just want to take care of you."

Kyle could only nod his head as he accepted another bite of cake, his mouth sticky with frosting; tongue thick with unspoken words. He was succumbing again, harder than before, but he didn't know how to fight. What was worse was that he didn't think he even wanted to anymore. Another fleeting image of Stan passed through his mind and he whimpered once more, but this time the pain was different; nearly crippling him, his chest becoming tight. Mark clucked his tongue, offering him more of the confection.

"I know it hurts, love. Just eat a little and then we can try to sleep. How does that sound?"

"Where did Damien go? He isn't still here, is he?" Kyle asked, a sudden thought coming to him; even as he obediently chewed and swallowed. The demon had lingered until Mark was finished with Kyle, there in the room with the captured unicorn serving as a backdrop. He'd stayed until he seemed satisfied, and then -

"I can't speak for him," Mark muttered, reaching up and using his thumb to wipe away some frosting from the corner of Kyle's mouth. He licked it away, his expression becoming grim. "He does whatever the fuck he wants, not that I'm too concerned about him anymore. I can hold my own these days."

"Why?" Kyle asked, feeling timid and wrung out. "What did he do to you?"

Mark only smiled and leaned forward, this time kissing the frosting from Kyle's mouth. He lingered for a moment, his eyes closing as he sighed.

"He made it so I could get you back," he murmured, kissing Kyle again and again. His eyes opened, shining red-black and practically throbbing. "And now I'm never going to let you go."

\--------

"I really think you should let me go with you, dude. It's idiotic to walk into this situation on your own."

Stan shrugged off Kenny's words as he stood from his bed, the gun he'd given him tucked into the waistband of his jeans; a flashlight clenched in his hand. Even with the safety on he was still terrified to be carrying it, almost feeling like it was weighing him down until he couldn't move. He pushed this idea away and tried to focus on Kyle, but fear and an almost breathless anticipation made it almost impossible to concentrate. When he looked down at his hands they were shaking; in fact, his entire body seemed to be shaking like he'd been plunged into a snowbank.

"I didn't say this was a good idea, Kenny; it's just the only one I have." Stan shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He gazed at Kenny for a moment, who regarded him with sleepy eyes; having been roused from a deep sleep when Stan came knocking at his window. "I just get the feeling that this is something I have to do on my own."

"Of course," Kenny sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You have to be the gallant knight going to save the damsel in distress. Heaven forbid you let someone help you. You're so much like Kyle when it comes to shit like this that it's unbelievable."

Stan shrugged, knowing that Kenny was right. He wasn't even going to try and argue his point.

"There's a reason we love each other so much," he murmured, sliding the window open so he could climb out. He never came to the front door if he could help it, knowing that Kenny's folks would blow a gasket if he came ringing the bell at such a late hour; or at all, really. Cooking meth was serious business and they hated to be disturbed, after all.

"Yeah, because you're too much alike," Kenny grinned, lighting up a cigarette and watching as Stan threw a leg over the window sill. "Clearly the saying about opposites attracting doesn't apply to you guys." His expression became anxious then, his eyebrows lifting a fraction. "Are you sure you'll be okay? I know you hate guns, dude; have you ever really fired one before?"

"Yeah, don't you remember?" Stan asked, throwing his other leg over so he could jump down. Straightening up, he noticed that the snow had picked up; becoming much thicker as it fell. "I shot Scuzzelbutt."

Kenny became silent, ruminating. He snapped his fingers.

"It's fuzzy, but I think I remember that, you fucking asshole. What'd he ever do to you?"

"That's beside the point, dude. I'm just saying, I've shot to kill before." Reaching into his pocket, Stan felt for the silver key that Ike had given him; making absolutely sure it was safe and ready to be used. "24601," he murmured, repeating the numbers over and over so he wouldn't forget them.

"Yeah, but do you think you'll be able to shoot Mark if need be? You're basically contemplating murder here." Kenny stood at the window and looked down at him, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth.

Pulling his hood up, Stan shrugged again, the word "murder" breaking through the numbers he'd been chanting inside of his head. The word felt so dirty and wrong as it rested in his brain, but it couldn't be helped anymore. Mark had pushed him to this point; had pushed everything to this point. It was time to pay the piper.

"Remember what you said about becoming ruthless because it's a ruthless world? That's all I'm doing...if I have to kill Mark in order to save Kyle, that's what I'll do."

"That's what I'm talking about," Kenny grinned, taking another drag. He cocked a brow. "Just be careful, okay? That motherfucker is crazy; he's apt to do anything. Be on your toes."

"Right," Stan said, turning away and contemplating the woods filling up with snow. He turned on the flashlight, its sickly, yellow light cutting through the darkness. "Do you think I should just cut through the woods to make it to Stark's? That'd be faster, don't you think?"

"Yeah, just don't get lost like a dumb ass."

"I won't," Stan muttered, beginning to walk away. "Wish me luck, man."

"You've got this, prince charming," Kenny called. "Go save your lady fair."

Stan didn't bother to respond to that, opting instead to throw up the bird as he struggled through the snow; a fleeting smile passing over his mouth.

\-------

The woods had never felt so immense or thick in his entire life. All around him, the tall pines stretched toward the cloud-covered sky; the moon nowhere to be seen and the stars blotted out. Snowflakes drifted down in dense droves, clinging to his eyelashes and obscuring his passage through the forest. Keeping his ears perked up, Stan kept scanning the horizon for any sign of Stark's Pond, knowing that as soon as he saw the water he'd be very close to Mark's mansion. Quiet permeated the gloom as he traipsed through the high drifts, the only noise coming from the scraping winds and the flakes skittering against frozen tree trunks.

As he walked, Stan tried to keep Kyle in the forefront of his thoughts; willing him to be okay. Sometimes it felt like they were linked through their minds, almost like they had a psychic connection that transcended the physical. Maybe love was powerful enough to defy the natural laws, he couldn't be sure, but he knew on a fundamental level that Kyle needed him; was waiting for him. The nightmare he'd had wasn't just a dream, no, it had been a warning; it'd smacked of reality, of events unfolding. It hadn't been the product of his anxiety or fear; it had been real.

"24601, 24601, 24601," he chanted, his breath coming out in icy puffs as he walked. The gun felt warm against his skin, almost like it had already been fired. Stan just prayed that he wouldn't have to actually use it, but if it came to that, so be it.

The snow was blowing sideways when Stan first caught sight of something, a momentary crimson flash emanating through the blue-white darkness. Blinking against the snow, he turned his flashlight toward the stand of trees it had come from, but they appeared normal; dark trunks coated on one side with white. He stopped, studying the area more intensely he was satisfied, very aware of just how hard his heart was starting to pound in his chest.

"I'm losing it," he murmured, beginning to walk again. "I have to be, right? After everything that's happened?"

 _Yeah, that's why you're talking to yourself,_ he thought, brushing some errant ice from his cheek. _It'll be a miracle if any of you are normal after all of this, kiddo. You realize that, right?_

Ignoring the dark direction of his thoughts, Stan attempted to reroute his mind, going back to chanting the passcode to Mark's front gate.

"24601, 24601, 24 -"

"...601, 26401, 12406," a dark voice took over, confusing and jumbling the numbers. It almost sounded like the icy wind, like a child crying in the dark; a woman screaming for help. The voice had sharp teeth, managing to embody fear and beauty all at once. Just the sound of it made Stan begin to shiver, tremors coursing up his backbone but not because of the cold. He stopped, frozen in place, and desperately looked around.

"W-who's there?" He called, almost not recognizing his own voice. He reached back and clumsily pulled the gun from the waistband of his jeans; nearly dropping it. Holding it up, he looked around, shining the flashlight in every direction; its weak light barely breaking the night around him.

The flash of red from before came back suddenly, but this time it stayed; lingering above him in one of the frozen trees. It resembled old bloodshed that was on the verge of congealing but not quite there, almost like if you were to pass your hand through it it would feel rubbery, but faintly sticky. This thought alone was enough to make Stan feel nauseous.

"What t-the fuck do y-you want?" He said, despising the childish tremor in his voice.

The scarlet splotch doubled now, becoming two throbbing pulses in the darkness as Stan stared in shock. After a moment, he could see the vague outline of a face, and then -

"What are you?" He breathed, finally having the wherewithal to move his body; managing to take a step back. A figure that seemed to be comprised of nothing but shadows was sitting up in the tree, looking down at him and smiling; one slender hand propped under his chin. Like a hellish Cheshire Cat, his eyes had been the first things to appear, followed by the rest of him; darkness filling in the blanks. Stan had never encountered a creature like this before, not outside of horror movies and books, of course. His appearance stirred a memory in his head, though, of something Kyle had told him. He sucked in a sharp breath, eyes widening.

"It can't be," he breathed, staring at the entity with new, hateful knowledge; if what he was remembering turned out to be the truth. "Are you...is your name -"

"You know my name," the man replied, studying Stan and appearing like he wanted to break into hysterical laughter. He seemed so pleased, so amused...so _entertained_. "So, are you just out for a little stroll in the middle of the night?" He looked around, his dark eyebrows raised. "Not the best weather for it, huh?"

Shakily, Stan lowered the gun and flashlight, not sensing an immediate threat from the creature, even though he seemed to reek of malicious intent. He tried to formulate a response, having not expected such a question; all he could do was mouth wordlessly.

"I get the sense you weren't sleeping very well," he continued, tapping his lip with a clawed finger. "Had a nightmare, huh?"

"You were there," Stan muttered, the dream coming back full-force; red eyes resting in the darkness and watching him; laughter in the dark. "Damien."

"The lamb is so preoccupied with you," Damien purred, leaning forward and appearing almost psychotically excited. "I had to pay you a visit."

"Lamb? What?" Stan asked, hardly able to follow the creature's special brand of insanity. "What are you talking about?"

Damien frowned suddenly, his bloodied eyes dropping to study the gun still clutched in Stan's trembling hand. He shook his head.

"Don't tell me you're going to use that ridiculous toy against Mark? It's almost like you want to get killed tonight. Or should I say, this morning," he looked up, seemingly sniffing at the air. "The sun will be up soon, you know."

Stan stared down at the gun for a moment before looking back at Damien, anger beginning to take the place of his fear. He didn't have time for riddles and bullshit.

"Get to the point," he seethed. He held up the gun, shaking it slightly. "Why won't this work against Mark? Huh? Tell me what the fuck you're talking about!"

Now Damien did laugh, and it was somehow worse than when he spoke; almost sounding like multiple people laughing at the same time. The effect was immensely disconcerting, almost making Stan feel dizzy. He just stared at him, waiting for the crazy bastard to start making sense. He blinked and when he opened his eyes, Damien was right in front of him, making him yell and fall back; the gun and flashlight flying from his hands as he landed in a drift of snow. The sickly, yellow light from the flashlight shone off into the lonely forest, highlighting the blinding snowfall.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he choked out, looking up at the black figure; seemingly miles tall and straight as an arrow.

"Jesus has nothing to do with this," Damien smirked, advancing on him. Suddenly, he held out his hand and an inferno erupted within it out of nowhere; pushing back the snow and cold for the briefest of moments. It felt like the wave of heat that hits your face when you open a hot oven, taking Stan by surprise. When the fire cleared, a glittering, silver knife was clenched in his fist; it almost seemed to glow.

"P-please," Stan stuttered, beginning to back away; the snow bleeding through his clothes and dredging them with cold. "J-just s-s-tay away, p-please -"

"You're just as innocent as the lamb," Damien mused, drawing the dagger upward like a nightmarish guillotine. "But you'll learn, you'll learn."

"No!" Stan screamed, scrambling to his feet and beating a hasty retreat; crashing through the snowy woods and pulling against branches jumping out of nowhere and snagging his clothes. He ran and ran until his lungs felt like they were on fire; every breath being torn from him feeling ragged and bloody. His eyes filled up with fearful tears that stung when the cold wind whipped his face; sprinting until he broke through the treeline and found himself standing at the edge of the pond. He stared out at the expanse of water, not trusting the ice littering its surface; what if it didn't hold his weight?

"Why did you try to run?" Damien's voice was right behind him and he turned, heart nearly threatening to explode in his chest; adrenaline coursing and making him want to throw up. Stan found himself face to face with a nightmare, every awful, violent thing ringing through eternity captured in a singular entity; cruelty incarnate. He fell back, gasping from exertion and terror.

Damien merely regarded him with an impassive expression, the dagger still in the hand that was hanging loosely at his side. It continued to glow, fighting the darkness and winning; almost like it was a living thing. Stan stared at it, waiting for Damien to use it.

"How far will you go to save your beloved?" Damien asked instead, studying him. "Because he's suffering right now, boy. Mark has his teeth in him, and they're deep; very deep."

These words made Stan's heart constrict as they confirmed the worst of his fears. He'd known that Kyle was with Mark but to know that he was hurting, suffering; this knowledge was enough to destroy him entirely. He shook his head, trying to get a handle on his breaths and his fear; on everything.

"I'd do anything for Kyle," he said, lifting his gaze and managing to meet Damien's directly. Just this action was enough to make him begin to shake harder; staring into the face of what had to be pure evil. "Just tell me what I have to do, and I'll do it."

"Is that so?" Damien smirked, flicking his eyes from Stan and out toward the pond. They flashed momentarily before he reared back and threw the dagger over Stan's head, the sound of metal skittering over ice reaching his ears and making him wince. "Well, then, if what you're saying is true, retrieve the dagger. It's your only hope."

Stan wrenched his eyes from Damien and looked out over the frozen pond, his gaze coming to rest on the knife glowing faintly at its center. Apprehension rose within him, not being able to trust the strength of the ice; not being able to trust himself to have the courage to brave walking across it.

"Trust your instincts," Damien said, arresting Stan's attention again. "That's the only way you'll win."

"Why are you doing this?" Stan asked, staring at the dagger again before turning back to Damien. "Why would you be willing to help Kyle?"

Damien shook his head, already beginning to fade away.

"I'm not helping Kyle. I'm just punishing a wayward pet; it's been a long time coming. Don't you think?"

"Pet?"

"Oh, yes. They're always such a trial when they get off their leashes."

"What are you -" Stan stopped, suddenly realizing he was all alone again, save for the icy trees and winds; his feet still resting at the edge of the water. He looked around, but Damien was nowhere to be found. Hurriedly, he patted down his jeans and cursed under his breath.

"The gun," he groaned, looked back toward the snow-covered forest. "How the hell am I gonna find it now?"

He contemplated the woods, their pure dark immensity, and gave up the gun as a lost cause; for the moment, anyway. He'd come to find it after all was said and done, but right now it'd be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Turning away, he glanced at the dagger still glowing silently like a beacon on the pond. It would seem that he had no choice but to retrieve it, unless of course he wanted to face Mark with nothing but his fists.

"Fuck that," he muttered, looking down at the layer of ice covering the pond with extreme trepidation. He had no reason to believe that it would support his weight. After all, the cold snap had been sudden and hadn't lasted more than a few days at most; there was no way the ice was thick enough to walk on. But he still needed to try...for Kyle. Hadn't he said that he'd do anything to save him?

 _Besides, if that psycho was willing to give it to me it must be pretty important_ , Stan thought as he tentatively stepped onto the ice, wincing as his sneaker crushed the crust. He waited for it to crack completely and send him falling into an abyss but it didn't come, and he let out a long breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. Steadying himself, he took another step, waited, and when nothing happened he began to walk; slowly, but with greater purpose.

_"Trust your instincts, trust your instincts, trust your instincts, trust your instincts."_

Damien's words rang through his head with each footfall, and somehow they gave him new, fragile strength. As he drew closer and closer to the dagger, he focused on these words and Kyle's face, but not the way he'd appeared in Stan's nightmare, no, the way he'd been the previous summer; fresh-faced and standing on the banks of the pond, flushed from being kissed. Longing, painful and threatening to engulf him, made Stan catch his breath as he finally approached the dagger, and he bent to pick it up; marveling at the way it warmed up his nearly numb hand. Straightening, he could only stare at it, and he could practically hear it whispering to him, spurning him on.

 _Use me_ , it seemed to say. _Don't be afraid anymore._

But he _was_ afraid, there was no denying that. Stan knew that Mark wouldn't give up Kyle without a fight, and he was relentless and cruel; he'd proven that on numerous occasions. Could he possibly stoop to that level of cruelty; that brand of depravity?

Could he be like Mark in order to save the person he loved the most?

Clutching the dagger, Stan shuddered a little as he looked up toward the estates looming in the distance; just beyond the pond and towering over the inky, frosted trees. The sky was shot through with ribbons of hazy light as the sun began to crest the horizon, but the clouds were still thick. He had a feeling the morning was going to be just as muted as the night had been, covered over with the silent, still falling snow. Almost feeling mechanical, he'd only taken a few more steps when he heard a sharp crack, almost like a piece of wood had been snapped right in half, and then -

"Oh, shit," he said, looking down at his feet and seeing the splinter running through the ice; widening as he watched. Dark, cold water began to ooze through the ice starting to separate and for a moment he could only stare, frozen in place, before more cracks could be heard ringing through the frigid air. With a pounding heart, Stan began to run outright, his sneakers sliding over the unforgiving, breaking ice and almost making him fall numerous times. Choking back a sob, he could imagine himself plunging into the water and drowning, freezing to death, and leaving Kyle to suffer and wonder what had become of him. He couldn't let that happen, not when he was so close!

_I let him down before, I'm not going to let that happen again!_

Stan was almost at the pond's edge, only one step away, when the ice finally gave up the fight and splintered completely; one shoe falling through and becoming drenched. He gasped as he jumped onto the bank, losing his footing on the hard-packed snow and sprawling to the ground, the dagger still clenched in his hand. Almost feeling like he was going to have a heart attack, he rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky, watching as the snow fell like tiny stars to cover him. He nearly laughed, holding up the dagger in triumph and ignoring the way he was shaking like a whipped dog; he'd done it! He'd fucking done it!

"I'm coming, Kyle," he said, sluggishly getting to his feet and grimacing when his foot squelched inside of his sodden shoe. "Just hold on."

\-------

"Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night, sailed off in a wooden shoe, sailed on a river of crystal light, into a sea of dew...."*

Kyle could only drift as Mark quietly spoke in his ear, reciting poetry and attempting to lull him to sleep, though he still couldn't keep his thoughts straight. At this point, he could barely remember who or where he was, only able to keep his attention focused on the snow globe still settled in his hands and Mark's arms winding around him as they lay in the dark; the large bed cradling them softly.

"You still can't sleep, huh?" Mark asked, kissing the back of Kyle's neck again as his fingers toyed with his collar; slipping beneath and tugging it gently.

"Hurts," Kyle whispered, shutting his eyes for a moment before opening them slowly; residual sugar from the white cake still sweetening his tongue. "I hurt."

"You'd feel better if you closed your eyes and went to sleep, love," Mark sighed, continuing to kiss Kyle's neck. "Here, maybe this'll help."

Gently, Mark reached over and took the snow globe from Kyle's hands, eliciting a small sound of protest from him. He hushed Kyle and set the globe aside, sliding a hand up Kyle's bare thigh and under his t-shirt; his fingers straying over the burning letters again. Kyle whimpered and tried to turn his face when Mark attempted to kiss his mouth, the sudden thought of kind, blue eyes filtering into his mind and calling him away; beckoning him. A name came to his lips but it promptly died when Mark gripped his chin, and before he could respond Kyle was being kissed hungrily; the feeling of his legs being parted plunging him back into the red mists.

"That's better," Mark murmured, slipping his tongue between Kyle's lips and tasting him; lapping up the sugar, Kyle's sweetness. "See? I'll make you feel good, and then you'll be able to sleep."

Somewhere in the fog, Kyle heard a dresser drawer being opened and then a snap, and before he knew it a warm wetness was being pressed inside of him; soothing the ache between his legs but making him want to sob at the same time. He didn't know why this was wrong, he didn't know why he wanted to fight, and worst of all, he kept seeing those phantom blue eyes in his mind but the person they belonged to was becoming lost in the tides; eaten up by flames. His body slackened as he felt Mark ease out of him, and then...then....

"Please," Kyle cried out, and now he was sobbing; sobbing against Mark's throat as he was being thrust into. "Don't do this, not again; I can't."

"It's for the best," Mark moaned, reaching down and taking a hold of Kyle's wrists; he drew them above his head as he continued to pump into him. His eyes, famished and strange, consumed Kyle's like red fire. "Just relax, love...just relax for me."

Arching off of the bed, Kyle turned his face away and pressed his cheek to the pillow, his gaze flitting to the window where the snow continued to fall. Watching it made him want his snow globe, made him crave being able to tip it over and becoming lost in the fake snow sifting and falling; it was something he could depend on. Sobbing again, he noticed that faint threads of white sunlight were breaking the clouds, pushing past the darkness. Tears wet his skin as he searched for any signs of blue in the night breaking apart, but he couldn't find any...all he could see beneath Mark was the darkness winning; obliterating the fledgling sunlight.

\-------

"24601," Stan said, softly, voice torn apart as the winds scuttled through the trees; whistling past him. His hand was trembling as he punched in the code to Mark's gate, standing back as the black metal barrier slowly began to open. Sweet relief radiated through him as he watched, elated that he'd remembered the numbers; euphoric that he was finally breaking through one of the last obstacles standing between him and saving his Kyle. He could only pray that the redhead was holding on; that he hadn't given up.

He broke into a sprint when the gates were open enough to slide through, ignoring the slickness of the ice and snow littering the long, winding driveway. His lungs were practically on fire by the time he made it up to the circular drive and saw Mark's massive home sitting in the darkness, remembering suddenly that Kyle had always described it as a "sleeping dragon"; he'd been right, it almost appeared a living, waiting creature. He could only stare at the massive structure in awe for a moment before he remembered his goal, his purpose; finding his beloved at all costs.

On light feet, Stan stole up to the large front doors, forest green and adorned with knockers shaped like lion's heads. Slipping a still trembling hand into his pocket, he withdrew the silver key and with baited breath, fitted it into the lock and twisted it, nearly wincing when he felt the tumblers reacting. He could scarcely believe it when the knob turned easily in his hand, and then -

The door swung open to reveal a gigantic foyer, the floor covered with a brightly-colored oriental rug, and above his head was a darkened chandelier; appearing monumental and cold. Just ahead was a large staircase that split at the top, heading off in opposite directions. Gazing around, he was overtaken by the opulence and the sheer size of Mark's home, his heart sinking when he realized that he had no idea where he should start looking. He'd only dared to consider the first leg of his trial: getting into the mansion in the first place, but now....where could they possibly be?

 _They're probably asleep_ , he thought, cringing at the idea. He could only hope that was all they were doing. Slowly, he began passing over the rug, the dagger warm in his hand, a resurgence of new, unbridled fear making his heart pound until he was breathless.

\-------

A shift in the atmosphere of the burgeoning morning made Mark sit up abruptly, finally relinquishing his hold on Kyle as he looked around. Lifting his face, he sniffed the air, and a large, uncontrollable smile snaked across his face. There was a change in the air, a new smell, and it reeked of fear...of a million emotions in one; all of them fueled with terror and longing. It was absolutely delicious, and suddenly his blood was racing furiously through his veins. Gazing down at his love, he studied Kyle's prone body as he finally slept, slow breaths making his chest rise and fall in languid depths. He was on his side, his hands curled next to his face as his beautiful hair splashed over the white pillow.

"I think we have a visitor, baby," Mark said, reaching over and resting his hand on the curve of Kyle's hip; he shook him, gently. "I hate to wake you up so soon, but we should probably go greet them."

Kyle stirred after a few moments, and Mark nearly sighed when reluctant green eyes turned to study him; full of sleep and shadows. A questioning look distorted the redhead's features as he studied Mark's face, and he shifted to sit up, looking around; he appeared a lost, fretful child.

"I'm sleepy," he said, immediately reaching over and taking a hold of the snow globe. Mark watched indulgently as he tipped it over, a small smile curving his mouth as the snow collected. He could hardly stand just how gorgeous Kyle looked sitting there in the blue-tinged darkness as the day slowly began; the black collar looping his throat as he admired the gift Mark had so lovingly given him.

"I know you are," Mark said, lifting a hand to Kyle's face and stroking his bruised, soft cheek. "You can go back to sleep once we've received our guest."

"What?" Kyle asked, suddenly looking alarmed. He flipped the globe, watching as the snow filtered around the cozy scene within.

"Yes, love. I think they've come to see you, specifically." He continued to stroke Kyle's face with extreme tenderness.

"Who?" Kyle appeared so frail as he looked into Mark's eyes, and he knew that he was finally falling into line; right where he belonged. Once Stan was out of the picture completely, then they could truly begin.

Taking his hand away, Mark dropped a kiss among Kyle's curls and stood, going to the dresser to retrieve the leash. Turning, he held it up for Kyle to see.

"You'll see soon enough, won't you? Here, let's get you ready."

\------

He was in a room with walls covered with what looked like murals, a unicorn being pursued and captured by hunters. Stan stood alongside the long cherry wood table and alternated between gazing at the bizarre medieval images and the remnants of a meal left behind; wine glasses half-full, a pretty white cake covered in fruit, plates of crackers and cheese and bread. The ornate silver candelabras in the middle of the table were studded with partially melted candles, and when he looked down at the white carpet he saw a trail of what had to be blood leading into the room from the doorway. Just the sight of the red splotches filled him with terror and such a potent rage he could practically taste it.

Stan had considered heading straight for the stairs but he'd hesitated once he'd looked at the rug and saw the rusty blood trail. Following it, he was now in the dining room and becoming lost among the unicorn murals; lost in the knowledge that Kyle had to have been in here just a short time before. He could practically feel his presence in the large, open room. He could feel something else too, something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up; a presence, a heavy, foreboding presence. There was so much malice lacing the air that it was nearly palpable, and all of his nerves were on edge as he walked around the table, studying the walls and attempting to get his bearings.

 _Trust your instincts_ , Damien's voice whispered in his mind, jagged but so musical; he winced just at the memory of it.

He was still having trouble piecing together the bizarre, surreal circumstances he found himself in. He was in Mark's house, finally, and he was passing through rooms that Kyle had once passed through; had no doubt suffered in. The past year unfolded like a hellish fan as he turned around to take in his surroundings, and for a moment Stan just wanted to cry. He wanted to cry over the blood, the pain...he wanted to cry for himself and all the agony of the prior months, but mostly he wanted to cry for Kyle. Kyle had endured trials that no decent person should have to survive, and Stan knew that with hateful, unforgiving certainty. But now, now he had a chance to stop the suffering; finally had his opportunity to rectify and right so many wrongs.

"Welcome," a dark voice spoke from behind him, making Stan nearly cry out; catching himself at the last moment. He should've been expecting a sudden turn and he chastised himself; hadn't Kenny told him to stay on his toes? Clenching his fingers around the dagger, he covertly hid it behind his back as he turned, steeling himself for the worst but not preparing himself enough, because what he saw nearly destroyed him.

"Kyle," he whispered, bringing a hand to his mouth as he stared at the boy he loved beyond all reason. The redhead was on his hands and knees like a dog, cowering beside Mark and staring up at Stan with blank, empty eyes; still a pretty clover green but so dead Stan almost didn't recognize them. Gone was their fire, their snap, and left behind was a mask of nothingness. Kyle regarded him like he was a stranger, his red hair shining under the light being thrown from the window; morning fire stealing through the air. Around his throat was the terrible black collar, and in Mark's hand was a leash; shackling Kyle to his side.

"Say hello to our guest, love," Mark said, cheerfully as he pulled on Kyle gently. Reaching down, he pressed the lost boy's head against his leg, and Stan almost vomited when he saw Kyle nuzzle against his captor.

Almost feeling rooted to the floor, Stan finally managed to come forward, his eyes never leaving Kyle's as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. This couldn't be true, this couldn't be right! Kyle was acting like he was completely gone from his own mind; like he'd never existed in the first place.

"Kyle, baby," he choked out, kneeling on the floor and facing Kyle eye to eye. "Talk to me, say something. Tell me you're okay, please."

"You may speak," Mark said, looping the leash around his hand and tugging lightly. "It'd be rude not to respond to your guest's request, don't you think?"

"Guest?" Kyle asked, looking confused. He tore his eyes from Stan's to gaze up at Mark. Mark smiled down at him, indulgent and appearing almost disgustingly proud.

"Yes, love. Don't you remember Stan? You used to belong to him, a long time ago."

Kyle's face was awash in a myriad of emotions then, confusion becoming paramount. He looked back at Stan and shook his head, tears filling up his eyes and beginning to spill down freshly-bruised cheeks. Rage flooded Stan in a poisonous tide and he rose from his place, the dagger burning in his hand.

"Kyle doesn't fucking belong to anyone, you disgusting, depraved -"

"I'd rethink that," Mark said, cutting him off. He stroked a hand through Kyle's curls, petting him like an obedient slave. "Love, will you stand up for me? I'd like to show Stan something."

Now Stan really was fighting back surging nausea as he watched Kyle obediently rise from the floor, not fighting or offering any resistance whatsoever. The leash fell against his white t-shirt, becoming even more stark as he stood there, arms at his sides and his pale legs so bare.

"Turn," Mark commanded, simply.

"Kyle, you don't have to listen to him! You don't have to do anything this bastard says!" Stan yelled, almost breaking apart as Kyle did exactly as he was instructed, turning around and waiting as Mark slowly began to pull up his shirt.

"That's where you're wrong," Mark purred, revealing the awful red letters cut into Kyle's fragile skin; every single one pink around the edges and almost seeming to burn. "As you can see, there's been a recent change."

Reaching down, he traced each letter as Stan looked on in horror. Mark's cruel eyes turned to hellfire when he caught Stan's focus, and he grinned; one sharp canine catching the soft sunlight that still illuminated the copper highlights in Kyle's hair.

"Kyle's mine," he smirked. "Good luck getting him back; I'd just like to see you try."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Wynken, Blynken, and Nod - Eugene Field


End file.
